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MELLIN'S FOOD 



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f0/? INFANTS AND INVALIDS. 

" Taubenstrasse, 51, 32, Berlin, Sept. 1, 1891. 
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In Memoriam 

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1935-1964 



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For Lack of Gold. 
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Love— or a Name. 
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In Exchange for a Soul. 

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With a Silkun Thread. 
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Not Wooed, but Won. 

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Her Mother's Darling. 
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Mistress Judith. 

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What SheCaweThrough 
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Noblesse Oblige. 
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By J. S. 
Cavalry Life. 

By H. F. 



St. Mungo's City. 

Lady Bell. 

Disappeared. 

Burl d Diamonds. 

The Blackball Ghosts, 
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WOOD. 



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London: CUATTO & WINDUI 



14, Piccadilly, W. 



DOROTHY FORSTER 



B ftlovel 



By WALTER BESANT 

AUTHOR OF ' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN,' ' THE CATTAINS' ROOM,' 
' ALL IN A GARDEN FAIR,' ETC. 




A NE W EDITION 



CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 

1891 



TO 

M. G. B. 



E. F Z, 



CONTENTS. 



I. THE EVE OP ST. JOHN 
II. THE FORSTERS 

III. THE HEIR OP BAMBOKOUGH 

IV. HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCE 
V. MR. ANTONY HILYARD 

VI. THE CHIEF CREDITOR 
VII. ROOM FOR MY LORD 
VIII. A PRINCE IN ISRAEL . 
IX. A HUNTING PARTY 
X. A TENDER CONSCIENCE 
XI. DAPHNE 
XII. FRANK RADCLIFFE 

XIII. CHRISTMAS EVE 

XIV. CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH N1GE 
XV. NEW YEAR'S DAY 

XVI. A STRANGE THING 
XVII. HE LOVES ME 
XV'III. A «ASE OF CONSCIENCE 
XIX. MY DECISION 

XX. HER LADYSHIP'S LETTER 
XXI. MR. HILYARD'S DREAM 
XXII. THE FUGITIVE 
'XXIII. WHAT WILL HE DO? 
XXIV. THE MEETING AT GREENRIG 
XXV. THE FIRST DAYS 
XXVI. MR. HILYARD RETURNS 
"XXVII. TO LONDON . 
I XXVIII. LORD CREWE. . 

XXIX. IN LONDON . 

XXX. LADY COWPEB . 



FAC.fi 
1 

13 

24 
33 
37 

43 
57 
74 
86 
96 
103 
108 
114 
122 
132 
137 
144 
149 
156 
107 
173 
181 
1S7 
192 
197 
204 
217 
226 
231 
239 



Vlll 



CO A TENTS. 



CHAPTER 

XXXI. THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL 
XXXII. A NOBLE PROJECT 

XXXIII. IN THE TOWER 

XXXIV. MR. HILYARD'S FREEDOM 
XXXV. jenny's SCHEME 

XXXVI. THE LORDS' TRIAL 
XXXVII. krank's ATTEMPT 
XXXVIII. MY LORD'S LAST DAYS 
XXXIX. TOM'S ESCAPE 

XL. THE END . 

ffOBISCRIPTUM , 



242 
251 
255 
260 
26G 
271 
277 
283 
292 
SOS 
SI0- 



DOROTHY FORSTER. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 

Those who are so happy as to be born and to live out their 
appointed time in the North Country are not only removed from 
the luxuries and vices of London, but also from that wicked modern 
fashion of scoffing at the things which lie beyond man's compre- 
hension, and should therefore be accounted sacred. We of Nor- 
thumberland certainly do not pretend disbelief in what is sufficiently 
proved, but cannot be understood. Almost everybody (every 
woman, indeed, without exception) has seen, some time or other, 
strange and wonderful things which cannot be explained. Some, 
it is true, have endeavoured to reason these things away by pre- 
tending the insensible and brute action of chance (among them, Mr. 
Hilyard tells me, a great Latin poet, named Lucretius), which is 
incredible unless we allow the round world and all that is therein 
to have been itself constructed and set a-going by accident. Others, 
still living, attribute the stories which abound among us to foolish 
credulity and ignorant superstition ; unto such persons there is no 
answer but the evidence of things related and testified. Others 
again, whose opinion is to be received with respect, think they 
perceive in them the workings of man's Chief Enemy. Let me, 
however, for my own part, following the expressed opinion of Mr. 
Hilyard and what I believe to have been that of my lord the late 
bishop, continue to think that what is permitted, though it be not 
understood, must be received with reverence and without too close 
scrutiny, as doubtless intended for no other purpose than a merci- 
ful one, videlicet, the admonition of the guilty and the encourage- 
ment of the virtuous. 

To those, again, who ask (seeking to throw discredit upon these 
beliefs by means of an idle laugh) why the things of which I speak 
are more common in the north than in the south of England — that 
is to say, why ghosts, spectres, witches, warlocks, elves, demons* 

1 



2 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

fairies or faws, waufs, warnings, and other strange manifestations 
and mysterious powers, continue in the North Country, yet are 
rarely reported from the Home counties or south of Tyne — I would 
venture to reply that (supposing the fact to be so) I know, indeed, 
of no other reason for the undoubted favour shown to us in this 
respect than the great superiority of Northumbrians over all other 
Englishmen in the matter of valour, strength, loyalty, and learning 
— I mean, of course, when they apply themselves to study, for, as 
eveybody knows, the gentlemen of the north are fonder of sport 
than of books. As for the piety of my people, much might be said 
and much confessed or allowed. We have, doubtless, the reputa- 
tion o* o<smg hard drinkers and ready strikers ; and we are also 
accused of smuggling and cattle-lifting. These charges are doubt- 
less true, and cannot be denied, though of late years there has been 
amendment, and one should remember that there has never been a 
time until the present when a Northumberland man could look for 
continued peace or respite from fighting ; nor could a rich man lie 
down at night with any certainty that he might not awake in the 
morning to find himself a poor man, his cattle lifted and his barns 
fired ; nor could he fall asleep with an assurance that he would not 
be roused at night by the blazing turf, and have to boot and saddle 
and ride after marauders, pistol in holster, sword by side, and fire- 
lock on shoulder. This has made a race of men quick to fight and 
careless of life, since, willy nilly, they went daily in peril ; and 
many families there are whose men, until a hundred years ago, 
never knew what it was to die in their beds. So much must be 
allowed my countrymen as an excuse for their readiness to strike. 
As to their drinking, true it is that the gentry drink much wine of 
France and Spain, Rhenish, claret, and mountain, with brandy, 
usquebaugh, Hollands, ale, cider, punch, mum, cordials, and strong 
waters of every kind, while the common sort follow the example of 
their betters as far as they can afford (in which I blame them not) : 
but still our rough country fellows are not, so far as I know, so 
drunken as the rabble of London. 

And as for religion, I dare maintain that no gentlemen in 
England go to church with greater regularity than those of Nor- 
thumberland, or more dutifully repeat the responses ; while the 
country people, though there are many parts where there is no 
church at all for them, do still keep up with zeal the observance, 
with all customary marks of respect, of the great days of the 
Church— that is to say, feasting on New Year's Day and Candle- 
mas, fighting their cocks on Shrove Tuesday, eating parched peac 
on Carling Sunday, carrying round the plough at Christmas, getting 
up to see the sun dance at Easter Day, on May Day beating the 
bounds, according to ancient custom of the Church ; and all with 
the drinking of ale continually, both small ale and October, accord- 
ing to their means, and plenty of honest quarter-staff, bull and 
badger baiting, wrestling and boxing, to keep up the spirits of the 
people. Moreover, there are among us, though many staunch 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 3 

Catholics, few, indeed, of the vermin who, undei the name of Inde- 
pendents, Nonconformists, Whigs, and what not, have within the 
last eighty years murdered one King, driven another from his 
throne, and do still keep a third from the noble inheritance and 
earthly crown which are his by Divine Right. These reasons seem 
to me quite sufficient, without further inquiry, to account for the 
great blessings which we of the North Country enjoy in the shape 
of visits and messsages from the dead, supernatural warnings, with 
omens, prognostications, and the spirit of prophecy. As regards 
fairies and certain strange spectres which are reported to linger 
among our old ruins, I say nothing : first, because I cannot under- 
stand the purpose served in the Great Universal Scheme by the 
race of fairies ; and next, because, as regards the spectres, it is a 
thing incomprehensible to me why the ghosts of mere obscure and 
lowly-born persons, such as Cuddy the Reaper, or Nelly the Knocker, 
should be allowed so great a distinction as to continue among us, 
although it is seemly and becoming that the souls of great persons, 
such as that of the late Countess of Derwentwater (which I hear 
hath been recently reported to have been seen by many at Dilston) 
should be allowed to remain on earth as long as they please, either 
for the sake of weeping over the past, or of lingering in spots for- 
merly loved, until they can take their place in Heaven. 

On the Eve of St. John, in the year 1703, when Thomas Forster, 
Esquire, of Etherston, the elder, was Sheriff for Northumberland, 
I, Dorothy, his daughter, was at the Manor House, Banborough, 
where I was staying under charge of my old nurse Judith, in order 
to see the Midsummer Fire. 'Twas the same year in which my 
elder brother Thomas, coming of age, entered into possession of 
that noble inheritance of the Bamborough estates, to which he was 
heir in comparency with my aunt Dorothy, Lady Crewe. The 
estates included the village and Manor House, with the castle by 
the sea, and a great many other lands, manors, farms, and houses, 
of which an account shall presently be given. The house on this 
evening was filled with his companions, come to see the famous 
midnight fire ; and after the manner of young gentlemen, they 
were killing the time between supper and twelve of the clock with 
drinking and singing. 

The lire was built every year upon the geashore north of the 
castle, where a broad space of level sand lies between the links and 
the water, uncovered even at high tide. The custom of the St. 
John Baptist's Fire goeth back beyond the memory of man — it is 
so ancient that its origin is lost : it is so much esteemed that the 
folk would no more think of letting it be forgotten or neglected 
than the girls would forget to dream of husbands on St. Agnes' 
Eve, or to hide the men's shoes on Easter morning. Mr. Hilyard, 
who hath always something to say concerning the ancient world, 
will have it that the Midsummer Fire is nothing in the world but a 
pagan rite, videlicet, a fire built and lit in honour of the god Baal, 



4 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

and of Phoenician origin ; that is to say, it came from Tyre, of 
which city Hiram once was king, whose sailors navigated the world 
in the service of Solomon, as is very well known, bringing to the 
harbours of the Holy Land gold from India and tin from Britain. 
For which reason, he saith, and in lasting remembrance of that 
wise Prince, the Church hath done well to continue the practice, 
and to place under the protection of St. John Baptist that rite 
which formerly was part of the worship of a false god, and would, 
therefore, without such protection, lay open those who practise 
it to the wiles and temptations of the enemy. 

From all quarters the people come a holiday-making, and to see 
the Bamborough Fire. They come from Lucker and from Spindle- 
ton, from the Sea Houses of North Sunderland, from Belf ord, whiqh 
is six miles away, and from Ellingham, which is ten. It is the chief 
annual festival at Bamborough, even greater than the Hagameny 
carrying of the plough at Alnwick ; the gipsies come and set up 
tents upon the sands ; there is always a travelling show or two, 
with men who do strange things, and booths where gingerbread is 
sold ; and there is all day long cock-fighting, with cudgelling, 
quarter-staff, and wrestling. The rustics come at daybreak, the 
farmers ride into the place early in the day, and there is a vast deal 
of drinking, eating, and singing long before the time comes for 
firing the pile. The younger men build up the pile with wood, 
artfully laying dry branches and twigs over and among the big logs, 
so as to raise a sudden and lofty flame ; the boys look on and run 
about, and tease and fight each other ; the girls are making wreaths 
and garlands with midsummer rush, vervain, and St. John's wort ; 
the older women and matrons stand together and talk. It is a 
subject for gratitude to think how simple are the pleasures of 
country women, since a long talk is, to most, their chief relaxation 
and delight ; their husbands, poor souls, must still be drinking or 
smoking tobacco, or looking on at fights or banging each other with 
quarter-staves. As for the older men, if they are of the better 
sort, they sit together in the inn ; and if they are of the lower 
kind, they commonly lean against door-posts, each with a pannikin 
in his hand, and slowly drink and slowly speak (because a rustic's 
words are few, though his wisdom is great) in the soft Northumbrian 
burr, which I, for one, have ever loved so much, and cannot, if I 
would, lay aside. The ingenious Mr. De Foe hath lately called it a 
1 hollow jawing in the throat,' which is, by his leave, a rude and 
ignorant way of describing it, and more fitly applied to the rough 
talk of the Border Scotch. It is a way of speaking which cannot 
be set down on paper, thereforo all that follows is written as if it 
had been spoken in the mincing, affected way of St. James Street 
or the rough tongue of the London Mob 

' Oh, nurse !' I cried, ' when will it be midnight ?' 
' Patience, lass,' replied the old woman. ' Time is a B!u<Tgard for 
the young, but for the old he gallops.' 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 5 

T -was sitting in the parlour with my old nurse Judith, waiting 
impatiently for the time ; the loud talk of the gentlemen was heard 
from the dining-room. Presently my eyelids began to close, and 
jny restless fingers became still. Then my head fell upon the tall 
back of the chair, and I was asleep. Nurse let me sleep till the 
clock struck two-quarters after eleven, when she awoke me, put on 
my hat, and tied a handkerchief about my neck, and so we sallied 
forth. As we left the house, the cold air, the shouts of the people 
outside, and the singing of the gentlemen within — 

' When candlesticks they serve for bells ; 

And frying-pans they use for ladles ; 
And in the sea they dig for wells ; 

And porridge-pots they use for cradles — 

completely awakened me, and I shivered, threw up my head, and 
felt no more sleepiness, and ran, laughing and shouting, to the 
sand-hills from which I was to see the show. 

The night was clear, with never a cloud, and a bright full moon 
riding in the sky — yet in this season, even at midnight, it is so light 
that there needs no moon. The wind had dropped, and the waves, 
which sometimes break so high and terrible on this coast, were now 
little ripples which rolled along the sand in a whisper. Above the 
sands the great castle stood, a grand sight to behold, its rugged 
walls either showing white in the moonlight, or, where in deep 
shadow, black and gloomy, until the red blaze of the bonfire 
presently lit them up, and made them yet more awful. 

The sands were crowded with the noisy people. In the midst 
stood the great pile waiting for the torch. Everybody was talking, 
laughing, shouting, and singing. Upon the sea there lay a broad 
bolt of white moonlight, very pretty to look upon. To me, think- 
ing of what Mr. Hilyard had told me, it seemed that perhaps when 
King Solomon's sailors came they may have built their idolatrous 
fire on the same place, and by the light of the same moon. But 
perhaps there were then as yet no Forsters in Northumberland. 
They are, it may be admitted, of later date than the age of Solomon 
and King Hiram. Perhaps, too, there was no castle. It seemed 
to me a great pity that Solomon's sailors should come so far and 
not be able to see the castle after all ; and this, although they had 
the glories of the Temple should they get home in safety to the 
ports of Joppa, Sidon, and Tyre. But then the clock struck twelve, 
and suddenly the fire blazed up, and in a moment seized on tha 
whole of the pile, and rolled upward in vast great tongues of flame 
with a cracking and roaring very frightful to behold and hear. 

' Thus,' said Mr. Hilyard once, ' thus the false prophets on 
Carmel danced and shouted round their altars ; through such a fire 
the children were passed.' 

Indeed, when one remembers the wild faces of the men and 
women who leaped about that fire, there remains no doubt that in 
the madness caused by the blaze and roar of the flames, and the 



6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

drink they had taken, and the shouts and dancing, it needed little 
to make even our own people toss their little ones through the flames, 
as, it is said, but I know not with what truth, is done to this day by 
the wild Kerns of Ireland. 

In half an hour the first fury of the flames was spent, the small 
branches being all burnt, and there remained only the steady 
burning of the big logs. And then the young men began to leap 
with shouts across the fire, and the girls threw their wreaths upoa 
it and sang again, and again danced round and round the pile. 

' Let us go, Judith,' said I, frightened by all thi=> ateuting. 

' Wait, child,' the old woman replied. 'Wait, my dearie ; they 
are going to bring out the Midsummer Witch. We will go down 
and learn thy fortune.' 

At this point, indeed, there was a rush of the boys, always the 
most zealous in every ceremony or public entertainment, across 
the> sands, over which was now seen approaching a procession of 
half-a-dozen girls, walking slowly, and singing a kind of hymn. In 
their midst, as one could presently discern, there walked a girl 
dressed all in white, and veiled from head to foot. Her com- 
panions were carrying, according to custom, wreaths of vervain, 
midsummer rush, St. John's wort, and mother-wort. 

' "lis Jenny Lee,' said Nurse Judith, half to herself. ' They told 
me she was to be the St. John's Eve Witch. A proper witch, I 
warrantt As for her father, sure he gave a love-drink to her 
mother, else how should an honest farmer's wench go follow a 
gipsy tramp, even though he wedded her in church and called him- 
self the king of his thievish people, and was, as a body might say, 
as well set up a man with as fine a leg as a woman can desire, and 
as proud as Lucifer— Lord forgive us ! And on Midsummer Eve !' 
She looked round as if she expected something fearful with claws 
and fiery eyes, and crossed herself — a Papistical custom, but com- 
mon in Northumberland. ' If you want a witch, you needn't go 
farther than his daughter. They say she can do things already for 
which in the old times a poor old woman would be burned — my 
own great-grandmother for one, in King James's time. But that's 
a hundred years ago, and the world is changed. Witches can come 
and go without let or hindrance, which is a shame in a Christian 
country. Yet it is a blessed thing to live in times when there is 
no fear of being burned for a witch when you are only old and 
toothless. Did I tell you, my dearie, how I once saw a witch fly 
across the moon, broomstick and all ?' 

She had often told me that story ; but even at that tender age 
I could not believe how a cloud, as it seemed to everybody else, 
should be to her a witch astride of a broomstick. 

' To tell fortunes,' Judith went on, ' one must either be a witch 
or a gipsy. Jenny is both gipsy and witch, they say. Look ! 
Here comes his honour with the gentlemen and Mr. Hilyard. 

As the procession came across the sands, the white-veiled figure 
looking strange and ghastly in the moonlight, the gentlemen came 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. j 

out of the house and walked arm-in-arm down the street towards 
the shore. My brother Tom, it may be supposed, had taken a glass 
more than the strength of his head allowed, for he staggered a little 
as he went. With him were two or three of his friends — Ned 
Swinburne and Jack Swinburne, brothers of Sir William of 
Capheaton ; Mad Jack Hall, of Otterbourne, whose presence always 
foreboded misfortune to the Forsters ; young Mr. Peregrine Wid- 
drington, brother to my lord ; and Mr. Antony Hilyard, Tom's 
former tutor. They all trooped along together, noisily laughing. 

By this time the girls had placed the Midsummer Witch on a 
sort of throne or stool of state covered with red cloth and flowers 

' The Midsummer Witch must be a maid,' said Judith, ' and a 
firstborn child, else the spell will not work.' 

They placed in her hand a vessel of some kind with a long and 
narrow neck. 

' It is filled with water,' continued Judith, ' drawn by herself 
from the sea on this very evening. Now, child, double thumb and 
come along.' 

Everybody knows that to double your thumb in your right hand 
averts danger. I complied, and thus secured we ran down the 
hillock, and joined the group. 

The villagers were standing round their newly-made witch in a 
respectful ring, the middle of which was occupied by Tom and his 
friends. 

' Now, fair witch and pretty sorceress,' said he, pretending not 
to know the veiled girl, ' tell us our fortunes, and we will reward 
thee with a kiss, if your ghostship allows us to see your face.' 

But everybody knew very well who was the witch. 

' Your honour must put something of your own in the jar, said 
Judith. 

Meantime the veiled girl sat as if she heard nothing ; in her lap 
the jar, and her hands folded round it. 

' Drop your ring in it,' whispered Judith, ' No need to tell her 
your name or the name of any gentleman. She is veiled, a,nd 
cannot see.' 

Mr. Forster drew a signet-ring, engraved with his arms, from his 
finger, and placed it in the narrow-necked jar. 

' Now,' he said, laughing, ' tell me the fortune of the ring and 
its owner.' 

She put her hand into the vessel, and took out the ring. Then 
she replied slowly, as if she were looking for words fitting the 
fortune she was to tell : 

' Great place, great chase : near the grave, yet one to save. 
Great name, great blame ; far off to die, at home to lie.' 

That was a strange fortune : what could it mean ? 

' I said she was a witch,' murmured Judith. ' Take back your 
ring, sir.' 

The girl held out her open hand. Strange ! the stone had falleij 
from the rinsr. and lav upon her r.alm 



8 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' Luoky,' said my brother, ' that it did not fall in the sand. The 
sea-water loosened it. " Great name," ' he continued, a little 
sobered ; ' what is it ? " Great blame," or " great fame "— " far 
off to die " — well, what man can die more than once ? " At home 
to lie "—one would wish to lie with one's own people. " Great 
blame !" — who cares for blame ? A good fortune this. Now, Ned, 
try your luck.' 

Mr. Edward Swinburne, a young man of my brother's age or 
thereabouts, stepped forward, and placed a piece of money in the 
jar. 

Said the girl, taking out the money : 

' Prison walls and prison-bed ; 
Who lies there is stark and dead.' 

' I wish to heaven, Tom,' said the young man angrily, ' that we 
had stayed at home, and sat out t'other bottle.' 

Then Perry Widdrington took his place. 

The oracle was more pleasant to hear. The voice of the girl was 
low, and she never moved the whole time : 

' Danger by land and danger by sea : 
Yet your death at last in your bed shall be.' 

' Thank you for nothing, witch,' said Peregrine, stepping back. 

1 As for me,' said mad Jack Hall, whom none of the Forsters, 
except Tom, loved, because his presence seems to bode misfortune 
to us — besides, a man of forty had no business drinking and 
carousing with these young men — ' as for me, I will have none of 
thy fortune, good nor bad. There's plenty good and plenty bad in 
the locker. Good or bad, what matters, so there's beef on board 
and drink in can ?' 

His rosy face looked as if he had already taken as much drink 
out of the can as he could well hold. 

' Come, brave toper — come, my lusty Tony,' cried the lad Pere- 
grine, clapping Mr. Hilyard on the shoulder : ' try thy fortune, 
man!' 

The young man ought to have shown more reverence to the 
scholar, but learning and Perry Widdrington did not indeed regard 
each other with respect. Besides, the truth is that Mr. Hilyard 
was himself somewhat indined to stagger as he went. 

Mr. Hilyard was a young man then, although so learned. 
Perhaps he was about five or six-and-twenty. He wore no hat, his 
wig was awry and out of curl ; his cheeks were red, his neckcloth 
was disordered ; he stood behind the others, as if he did not by 
right of birtb (which was the case) belong to them. His merry 
laughing face, when the fire lit it up, seemed filled with the joy of 
wine and song : the poet Anacreon (whose verses he afterwards 
translated) could not have been more jovial to look upon. Hia 
nose was broad, his lips full ; his eyes were large, his figure short 
and squab. 

' My fortune ?' he asked, with a laugh— though why should ha 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 9 

laugh over so grave a matter as his own fate? 'My fortune? 
What better fortune than to drink and royster among the gentle- 
men of Northumberland ?' 

However, he placed a coin in the girl's jar, and waited as if he 
was ready for anything besides that fortune might have for him. 

' Fortune has no more to give me,' Mr. Hilyard said presently. 
' Or, if anything, she keeps it concealed in a basket, as the Egyptian 
his secret, who, to one asking, replied, " Since thou seest it covered 
what impudence is this, to inquire into a hidden thing ?" Keep 
silence, priestess.' 

But the girl gave his fortune : 

' Love a fair girl all your life, 
Yet shalt never have a wife. 
Thou shalt rise and she shall fall ; 
Fear not thou wilt top them all.' 

' Why,' cried Mr. Hilyard, ' here is an excellent fortune indeed ! 
Good Sybil, I thank thee. Yet Haman rose and topped them all. 
So did Stylites, and so doth Steeple Jack. So does every poor 
devil at Tyburn Tree. Nevertheless, I thank thee. Delphic oracles 
are ever obscure. And there are many ways of rising — did one 
only know them.' 

'Enough fooling,' said my brother. 'Judith, give the girl a 
shilling for her trouble.' He tossed her the coin. ' Come, Ned — 
come, Peregrine — come, Jack ! Let us go back and crack t'other 
bottle.' 

They returned as they had come, arm-in-arm, tramping up the 
road, and the scholar began to sing as they went. He had a clear, 
aweet voice : 

' He drank till night, and he drank till noon, 

The thirst in his gullet was such ; 
He never could drink a drop too soon — too soon : 
And never, never, never — no never — 
Never a drop too much.' 

I whispered, ' Judith,' when they were quite gone, ' let me now 
try my fortune, too. Is it not my turn now ?' 

But Judith was shaking her head. 

' That shall you not,' she said angrily. ' Here is a fine Mid- 
summer Witch for you, with her bad luck for everybody ! Heard 
one ever the like ? I would duck her in the sea for two straws. 
And for all these gallant gentlemen, too !' 

' Oh, nurse !' But the oracle sat as if she heard not. 'Nurse, I 
must have my fortune told — I must indeed.' 

'Yes — yes,' cried the women of the village, pressing round. 
' Miss Dorothy's fortune ! Let us have Miss Dorothy's fortune, 
too.' 

Judith gave way. She was as curious as the rest to know what 
this wonderful Midsummer Witch would say. Yet she was 
afraid. 



io DOROTHY FORSTER, 

'Hast ever a crooked pin about thee, child ?' she asked. 'So — 
this will do. Drop it in the jar. Now — double thumb again, 
child.' 

The girl once more put her hand into the jar, and brought out 
the pin. As for me, I waited in a strange expectancy. Oh, what 
would she give me ? For the moment I felt as if this farmer's 
wench, whose father was but a common gipsy, actually knew the 
will of Heaven and could control the future. Impious thought ! 
And yet — it is truly wonderful — one knows not how — one cannot 
say why — the predictions of humble women are so often fufilled. 
Nurse Judith's great-grandmother — the one who was burned for a 
witch — predicted, as everybody still remembers, the tempest which 
blew down the roof of Belford Church, and on her way to the 
stake foretold a sudden and violent death for him who bore witness 
against her. Wonderful to relate, the man was, only a year after- 
wards, done to death in a fray with the Eedesdale men. Yet that 
little Jenny Lee, a milkmaid, a dairymaid, who dropped me a 
curtsey when she passed me — that she should — it was impossible ! 
What she said, however, was ambiguous enough for any fortune : 

' Lovers one, and two, and three, 
Lovers of high and of low degree, 
None of them all shall her husband be.' 

If none of my lovers was to become my husband, I thought, whom 
should I have to marry ? 

' Poor lass !' the women murmured. ' 'Tis a strange unlucky 
night for the quality.' 

It is a foolish thing that one should remember such a childish 
play, but I never forgot any of the fortunes told on that Mid- 
summer Eve. Nor, I think, did my nurse, as long as she lived, 
which was for ten years more. But now Judith dragged me away 
roughly, though the oracle had not yet finished telling the fortunes. 

' Come, child,' she said. ' It is bed-time. Fuss enough made 
about a girl ; silly talk— though 'tis St. John's Eve and all. Come, 
Dorothy ! a maid of ten has got nothing to do with lovers. Lovers, 
indeed ! Who ever heard of such things ?' 

She, however, did heed them very much, for her lips kept mutter- 
ing as we came away from the great fire, round which the country 
people were now pressing and crowding together to know their for- 
tune. What Jenny told them, I know not, but there now arose 
shouts of laughter. Yet to me it seemed as if they ought not to 
laugh when such melancholy fortunes had been told, and while the 
great fire— the fire of Baal — was still burning clear and bright, a 
terrible thing to look upon, just as it had done long ago when 
Solomon's sailors landed here, before King Ida built the castle, and 
before ever a Forster was seen in the North Country. 

' " Far off to die, at home to lie," ' Judith muttered. ' What did 
the child mean ? Where did she leara it ? I hope his honour may 
not be disturbed by such a thin^.' 



THE EVE OF ST JOHN. n 

His honour was not, because, with his companions, he was put to 
bed that night too drunk to remember anything. 

' Why, to be sure,' the nurse went on, ' it is only a play. And 
yet it is an old play, and we must never let it drop, or bad luck 
will come to us. Nobody knows who is abroad on such a night as 
this. Spirits whisper — I felt a cold breath on my own cheek just 
now. 'Tis a fearful night. Say prayers, my dear, and get to sleep.' 

Late as I had gone to bed, I was up betimes and dressed by six. 
When I went down the stairs I found Mr. Hilyard already up, and 
talking with no other than the girl Jenny Lee herself at the door. 

I know not whether he had been, like the others, drunk the night 
before. He was quite sober now, and composed and grave in his 
manner, as becomes a scholar and was his wont in the morning 
But his eyes were red, as sometimes happens after much wine. 

' Come, girl,' he was saying, ' thou shalt not put me off with non- 
sense. Who taught thee the rhymes ?' 

Jenny was a tall girl of twelve or thirteen, who might have been 
seventeen, so well grown was she. Judith called her a gipsy : her 
father, who was dead, belonged to that race. She had a gipsy's 
black hair and bright black eyes ; also a gipsy's swarthy skin, red 
lips, and white teeth. She bore on her head a pail of milk. When 
Mr. Hilyard spoke to her she looked confused, and hesitated. 

' Come,' he said. ' Here is little Miss Dorothy. As you hope 
for any favour from this young lady, tell us where you learned those 
fortunes.' 

' Perhaps they were whispered by the spirits,' said the girl im- 
pudently. ' Everybody knows that on St. John's Eve the good 
people are about.' 

' Perhaps they were not whispered. Perhaps I know where they 
came from.' 

I suppose there was something in his look which she read, because 
she dropped her eyes. 

' Telling misfortunes to gentlefolk is no laughing matter, my 
girl. Such prophecies sometimes bring their own fulfilment. It is 
recorded of Marius — but that concerns thee not. Who was it, 
Jenny ?' 

' Granny,' she whispered. ' Granny. Oh, she is a proper witch !' 

' Of course, I knew it, : he replied. ' Yet I saw none of your 
people among the gipsies yesterday.' 

She replied that, in fact, they were in trouble, one of them having 
been unjustly hanged for stealing a sheep (the whole tribe being 
ready to swear an alibi), and another having been recently flogged 
through the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed ; and that as regards 
Bamborough, the last time they were camped in that place there 
were so many complaints about pigs, geese, and even cows dying 
suddenly and mysteriously (their bodies being taken away by the 
gipsies and eaten), and so many threats of throwing the old woman 
into the pond for & witch, that they were afraid of coming any 



12 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

nearer. She was indeed — I knew her well — a most wonderful and 
terrible old woman to look at< being doubled up with rheumatism, 
and wrinkled and puckered in the face very curiously, yet with a 
pair of coal-black eyes which shone like fire. 

' She cast the fortunes of the gentlemen and Miss Dorothy with 
the cards,' Jenny Lee went on ; ' and yours too, sir. Oh, granny's 
words come true — every one J' 

' Where did your people come from last ?' asked Mr. Halyard. 

' They came from Lancashire, by way of Shotley ; and they are 
going to Wooler first, and then across the Cheviots and to Jed- 
burgh.' 

' From Lancashire.' 

Mr. Hilyard stroked his chin and lookod grave. Presently he 
began to speak with her eagerly in a tongue which I did not under- 
stand. Yet I knew very well that it was the language of the gipsy 
folk, and that Mr. Hilyard could talk it, being a most ingenious 
gentleman who could speak many languages, such as Dutch and 
French, and even thieves' tongue, which they call Canting. This 
he learned in London, while lurking (at great risk of being knocked 
o' the head) among the thieves and rogues of that great and wicked 
city. I believe there were also other weighty reasons, known to 
Oxford vintners and others who ha'd trusted him, why for a time 
he should lie snug. You will hear presently how a person so learned 
and of such curious accomplishments became a resident in our house, 
and our dependent. 

After a serious talk, Jenny went away, dropping me a curtsey 
without letting the pail fall from her head, or a drop of milk to be 
spilled. Then Mr. Hilyard hemmed twice, and said : 

' I was saying to the girl, Miss Dorothy, that the poultry of 
Bamboroughshire must not be stolen, or rogues will meet their 
deserts.' 

This he may have said among other things, but I knew very well 
indeed that he had sent a much more important message. In those 
days of unquiet, when there were secret communications and letters 
constantly passing from hand to hand, and especially between Lan- 
cashire and Northumberland, even a child could understand that in 
some way or other Mr. Hilyard and the old gipsy woman were con- 
cerned in letter-carrying. 

' It is strange,' he went on, speaking gravely, and with his eyes 
fixed, as if he was reading from a book, which was his way — ' it is 
strange that the girl doth not forget the language of her father's 
people, though her mother brought her away so young. Much I 
fear that when she grows older she will leave the ways of Christian 
folk and follow with the camp. 'Tis a strange wild people ! Nor 
hath it ever been made certain whence they came or where they 
were first seen, though some say Bohemia and some say Egypt. 
As for their language, which I have been at some pains to learn, 
that seems to have in it something of the Chaldsean. Meantime 
forget, child, the pretended oracles of this gipsy Delphic. As foz 



THE EVE OF ST JOHN. 13 

his honour, your brother, he will doubtless in some way achieve 
greatness, as his grandfather before him, Sir William, sheriff of the 
county ; and what the witch says is true, that great name brings 
great blame. Themistocles is recorded to have compared himself 
to a tree, the leaves of which are plucked by every passer-by ; yet 
in days of heat they all run to it for shelter. And as for prophecy, 
every man is Faber Fortuna?, or maker of his own fortune, which 
is the reason why some do spoil themselves in haste and hurry of 
making ; so that we may admire the wisdom of Vespasian, who 
stamped his coin with a dolphin and an anchor, and the legend, 
Soon enough if well enough. Forget the oracles, child : seek not to 
know the intentions of Providence : and doubtless when your 
brother and the gentlemen are ready to take their breakfast, they 
will have forgotten, by reason of the potency of his honour's port, 
the predictions of last night.' 

It is, indeed, as difficult to keep a gentleman of Northumberland 
from wine as a Woman from talk. 

' The goats of Candia,' -Mr. Hilyard resumed, stroking his chin, 
and changing his manner, ' being shot with an arrow, straightway 
choose the herb dittany in order to cure the wound ; the tortoise, 
having eaten a viper, seeks for wild marjoram ; the dragon, when 
his sight fails, cleans his eyes with fennel. Cranes, for the good of 
the stomach, drink sea-water. The wise man, Miss Dorothy, after 
a bottle or two of port over-night, taketh a tankard of small-beer 
in the morning.' 

He disappeared, in search of his remedy, and I saw him no more 
that morning. At noon the gentlemen took their breakfast, and 
presently rode away all together, laughing and shouting, and I 
never heard from any of them mention or remembrance of this 
oracle of St. John's Eve. 



CHAPTER EL 

THE FORSTER3. 

There are in Northumberland (one may thank Heaven for it) as 
many Forsters as there are Fenwicks, and more. First, it hath 
been said, but irreverently, the Lord made Adam and Eve ; and 
then He made the Forsters. They are, indeed, as ancient a family 
as any in the county ; as ancient in the county as the Percys, who 
belong also to Sussex, and are now swallowed up by the Seymours ; 
or the Radcliffes, who came from Cumberland. The ancient and 
original seat of the Forsters from time immemorial has beenatEther- 
ston, which is, being interpreted, the Adder Stone. An old ring of 
the family, now in possession of my brother, John Forster, Esquire, 
of Etherston, commemorates the origin of the name, being shaped 
like unto a twisted viper with his tail in Ms mouth, and set with a 
precious stone. There is a snake or dragon connected .rith many 



/« DOROTHY FORSTER. 

old and illustrious families : for instance, there is the loathly worm 
of Spindleston ; there is the dragon of the Lambtons of Durham ; 
there is the Conyers' dragon ; there is a Sussex dragon ; and the 
princely House of Lusignan, I am told by Mr. Hilyard, is descended 
from Melusine, a witch, or sorceress, who was half- woman, half- 
serpent. The legend of the Forsters' adder is lost. Mr. Hilyard 
once made a ballad or song about it, but so full of knights, shep- 
herds, nymphs, and cool grots (of which there are not many in our 
part of the country), that I thought it fantastical, although ingenious. 
The shield of the Forsters is — argent : a chevron vert between three 
bugle-horns stringed gules, and for crest a bent arm and a hand bear- 
ing a broken lance. The Etherston quartering is also argent : on a 
bend cottised sable three martlets. The motto is ' Si f ractus f ortis ;' 
but, like the Fenwicks, we have our family legend, namely : 

' Let us dearlie then holde 

To mynde ther worthines 
That which our parents olde 
Hath left us to posses.' 

There are branches of the Forsters everywhere : at Stokesley in. 
Yorkshire, at Durham (where they are called the ' Friend) v For- 
sters '), at Tuggall Hall, at Aldermarston, at Berwick, at East 
Bolton, in Jamaica, in London, and I know not where else. 
With these branches we have nothing here to do, save to mention 
them with respect as flourishing offshoots of a brave old stock. 
Especially, however, to be considered is the noble branch of 
Bamborough, founded by Sir John Forster, the valiant and trusty 
Warden of the March, under good Queen Elizabeth, for twenty- 
seven years, and Governor of Bamborough Castle. It was to his 
son, Sir Claudius, that King James made a grant of the castle and 
manor. This made him a man of greater importance than his first- 
cousin, Mr. Forster, of Etherston. Yet it is a proud thing to be 
the Head of the House, which will ever be the happiness of the 
Foirster who holds Etherston. 

The Forsters have always been, like most Northumbrian families, 
blessed with numerous progeny. One of them had twenty-one 
sons and a daughter ; being unsurpassed in this respect, even in 
Northumberland, except by Sir William Swinburne's father, who, 
to be sure, had thirty children. How great a happiness to bring 
ay so many valiant sons to fight England's enemies and maintain 
the glory of the country ! By marriage, especially before the 
Reformation, into which many noble Houses of the north would 
never enter, the Forsters were connected with nearly every family 
of gentle birth in the north ; videlicet, Lords Crewe, Wharton, 
Hilton, and Ogle ; the Radcliffes, Shaftoes, Swinburnes, Chaytors, 
Selbys, Herons, Carnabys, Crasters, Ridleys, Fenwicks, Salkelds, 
Grays of Chillingham and of Howick ; the Coles of Brancepeth, 
»nd the Ordes. By marriage with a Radcliffe, the Forsters of 



THE FORSTERS. 15 

Bamborough acquired the Manor of Blanchland ; and by marriage 
with a Selby, that of Thornton. One of the Forsters was Lord 
Chief Justice of England, another was a Puisne Judge ; many of 
them were Sheriffs and Knights of the Shire. Their history is, in 
a word, part and parcel of the history of Northumberland itself ; 
that is to say, of the great and glorious realm of England. 

This book is written for no other purpose than to set forth the 
true character of a gallant and honourable gentleman which hath 
been of late defamed ; and especially by one who hath eaten his 
bread, drunk his wine, and received many favours at his hands. 
The name of this gentleman is Thomas Forster, generally called 
the Younger. It was he who commanded the Prince's English 
forces during the unhappy Rebellion. The hand which writes his 
history is that of his sister. I am, it is true, unpractised in the 
penman's art, therefore unskilled in the trick of making the false 
appear the true. Yet I can narrate faithfully the things which 
happened ; 1 can show hypocrites and villains, stripped of their 
disguise, the horrid wretches which they are ; and I can tell how 
gallant gentlemen and loyal subjects of the lawful sovereign of 
these realms (whom may God restore !) were betrayed to their own 
undoing. 

No one should be able to speak of a man so well as his sister. 
As for his wife, she knows him only when he has arrived at man- 
hood, and has no knowledge of the time when he was a stripling, 
inexperienced and ignorant, though perhaps full of brave intentions, 
or a boy at school under ferule and discipline, or a curly-headed 
laughing child. The sister remembers the growth of her brother's 
mind ; she has watched (if she be an elder sister) the hesitations of 
the boy, his first doubtful flights, seeming, like the needle when 
the compass is shaken, to incline now here, now there, until it 
settles towards a steady north, as towards the straight and narrow 
path of honour which leadeth to heaven. To a wife, a man pre- 
sents himself completed, at his best ; like a finished work, a picture 
framed, a poem written and printed. As for myself, it is true that 
I remember not my brother Tom as a child, because he was older 
than myself ; but I knew him as a young man while he wore his own 
hair still tied up by a ribbon, and went about dressed in grey sagathy 
and woollen stockings, and great thick shoes for weekday use ; with 
broadcloth and silver buttons, thread stockings, and silver buckles 
in his shoes, and a silk ribbon for his hair, on Sundays and holy- 
days. A brave and gallant lad be was, better at hunting than at 
reading, fonder of sport than of books, hearty with all, ready with 
a laugh and a friendly word with rich and poor ; and gifted with a 
natural love for friendliness, companionship, and good-fellowship, 
which made him beloved of all. He is dead now, and his fortunes 
broken and gone, and his enemies may say, as in the Otterbourne 
Ballad : 

' Now wc have carry'd all Bambroughshiw, 
All the welthe in the world kave wo.' 



1 6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Many have drawn comparisons between Mr. Forster and his 
gallant companion-in-arms, Lord Derwentwater, to the disadvan- 
tage of the former. It hath never been my pretence or opinion 
that my brother was possessed of a nature so strangely and so richly 
compounded as that of Lord Derwentwater. He, it must be owned, 
drew all hearts by qualities as rare as they are admirable. But I 
make bold to maintain that if loyalty, fidelity, and courage may 
command respect, then we must give respect to the memory of Mr. 
Thomas Forster. These virtues were conspicuous in him, as in all 
his line. Like a river in a champagne country which runs evenly 
between its banks, so is the race of the Forsters ; like the river 
Coquet, which is now deep, now shallow, now gliding through open 
fields, now running under rocks, now under high hanging woods, is 
the race of the Radcliffes : and, like that river, they are most beau- 
tiful just before the end. 

The father of this Thomas Forster was Thomas Forster, com- 
monly called the Elder, of Etherston. He remained a private 
gentleman, taking no office until after the death of his cousins of 
Bamborough. Then he became Sheriff of the County and, between 
the years 1706 and 1710, Knight of the Shire. In the House of 
Commons he made no greater figure than a gentleman of Tory and 
High Church principles generally desires to make. Thus he was 
never a prater, nor did he waste the time of the House with idle 
talk and argument, being always well advised beforehand which side 
was the right, whose arguments would be the better, and prepared 
to vote, when called upon, with his friends. He, therefore, ac- 
quired the respect which Parliament is always ready to accord to 
members who sit silent and vote with their party. It would, indeed, 
have pleased him best could the measures have been brought for- 
ward silently, and voted without any speeches at all. ' It was a 
poor reward,' he said, ' for the fatigue of a journey from Etherston 
to Newcastle, and from Newcastle to town, to sit out a long and 
tedious debate, when one's mind was already made up, and argu- 
ment can produce no more effect than swanshot on the back of a 
tortoise.' He married, while in his twenty-first year, his second 
cousin Frances, daughter of Sir William Forster of Bamborough. 
By her he had issue, namely, Thomas Forster, aforesaid ; John, 
who is now the possessor of Etherston ; Margaret, the eldest of the 
family, married to Sir William Bacon, of Staward. ; Elizabeth and 
William, who both died young ; and myself, Dorothy. It was the 
misfortune of these children that their mother, who was as virtuous 
and prudent as she was beautiful, died while they were all of tender 
years, and I, for one, but a little lassie indeed, too young to feel 
the blow which had fallen upon us, and too ignorant to join in the 
resentment which filled the breasts of my elders when my father, 
forgetting the incomparable virtues of the wife he had buried, 
married a second time. This marriage lasted but a short while, 
ending most tragically in the shooting by accident of madam. 
Would not one think that any man would plainly see ir + .he death 



THE FORSTERS. 17 

of two wives the direct injunction of Heaven to wed no more ? Yet 
my father tempted Providence and married a third time, his wife 
being now a certain Barbara Lawes, from the South Country, whose 
birth was not such as to warrant this elevation, and who understood 
not the Northumberland people, or their speech, or their ways 
She brought her husband two children, Ralph, who lived to be 
thirty years of age, and Mary, now married respectably to Mr. 
Proctor. 

As to my father, he was the easiest and kindest of men ; all he 
asked for in the world was rest and a quiet life ; to this he was 
surely entitled by reason of his birth, his fortune, and his good 
health. His fortune was moderate : an estate of some few hun- 
dreds a year, and a house as good as any, except the great castles, 
in the county. Etherston Hall is a mile or so from the little hamlet 
of Lucker, and four miles from Bamborough. It is a large, square 
house, as full of modern conveniences as any gentleman may desire ; 
the sitting-rooms are wainscoted with walnut-wood ; it has sash- 
windows, glazed with crown glass, which make the rooms light and 
pleasant in all weathers ; there are stoves to burn a coal fire, as 
well as andirons for wood ; in the parlour there is a high-backed 
chair for madam, and a great oaken settle, for my father loved the 
wooden seat of the North Country, with its cupboard below, in 
which were kept all kinds of stores ; there is a shelf of books if 
any want to read ; there are still-room and dairy ; and there is a 
great cellar well stocked with ale, both small and October — wine, 
both French, Spanish, and home-made — and whisky, brandy, and 
Geneva. Outside there is a stately garden full of fruit-trees, and 
planted with every kind of flower, fruit, and herb ; and to screen 
the house from the cold north and east winds there is a thick plan- 
tation, call it rather a small wood or coppice, containing all the 
trees that afford thick foliage and shelter, as firs and pines, with 
wych-elm, sycamore, ash, rowan, and so fort 1 !. 'Why,' my father 
would say, looking round him, ' there is no better house in all 
Northumberland for the entertainment of one's friends ; nor, upon 
my word, doth a pipe of tobacco anywhere taste so well, whether it 
be on the settle by the fire, or in the garden beneath a tree. Go 
fetch me one, Dorothy, my girl.' Seeing how much he loved to be 
at home, it may be thought surprising that he should have endured 
so long the fatigue of Parliament, the discomforts to a country 
gentleman of living in London, and the burden of the long journey 
to town and back again. Yet a gentleman must not shrink from 
the duties imposed upon him by his position, and when it became 
necessary tor him to become Knight of the Shire, he accepted the 
office with courage. 

I have no cause for repentance as regards the fifth commandment, 
and am easy in my conscience concerning my duty to my father 
The fifth commandment, although it hath been held by some to 
enjoin submission to all one's superiors in rank, fortune, place 
affinity, or age, yet surely was nevar intended to include step- 

2 



1 8 DGRO TH Y FORSTER. 

mothers. If it was, Heaven forgive the Forsters, for they have 
greatly sinned. Still, without seeking, like Adam in that pitiful 
excuse of his, to shift the blame upon another, it is not unjust to 
say that the beginnings of the quarrels were generally made by 
madam, who desired to rule her stepchildren, now growing tall and 
beyond her control, as if they were still little ones, and her own. 
My sister Margaret, the eldest, a girl of uncommon spirit, was quite 
able to hold her own. Perhaps madam was wrong when she charged 
her with inciting the younger ones to disobedience ; but I am sure 
that Tom was right when he, grown too big to be beaten, even by 
his father, stood between madam and his little sister Dorothy, swear- 
ing that he would not let madam lay finger upon her, whether she 
deserved it or not. Let her go beat her own children as much aa 
she pleased. 

' Dame,' cried her husband, when madam complained, ' must I for 
ever be going about with a whip in my hand, like an overseer in a 
negro plantation ? Do you let the children alone, and they will let 
you alone.' 

Then would she sit glum in a corner till I went humbly to ask 
pardon, and all for a time would go well again ; and over a pipe of 
tobacco and a pot of October, my father would talk with Tom about 
his horses and his hounds. When my sister Margaret married and 
went away, the household became more peaceful. Between Tom 
and myself — I being a child, and he a lad who was always ready 
to promise anything, besides that he regarded his younger sister 
with singular affection— it was presently arranged and understood 
that when we grew up we would live together away from Etherston 
Hall, and quite apart from madam. The compact was made long 
before it seemed likely that it would ever be carried out ; but then, 
who knows the decrees of Fate ? Nothing, says Mr. Hilyard, 
according to the French proverb, is more certain than the unfore- 
seen. 

' We will live together,' said Tom. ' Cheer up, Dorothy. We 
will go and live together somewhere as soon as I come of age to do 
what I please. Then madam will have no one to flout but Jack — 
poor Jack !' 

It is sad to remember the quarrels which occurred daily between 
these jealous children and their stepmother. She would rush into 
my father's presence loud in complaint, scolding like a madwoman, 
though perhaps it was but a mere trifle, calling loudly for rods and 
whippings, lamenting the day that ever she came into a house where 
the children were so disobedient, upbraiding her husband for his 
lack of severity, and calling on the precepts of Solomon, who is no- 
where so clear as on this point of punishing children. (Yet Reho- 
boam, who was, no doubt, very soundly flogged, did not turn out 
such a son as the wisest of men and fathers could regard with pride.) 
On the other side stood Tom with Dorothy ; she hanging her head 
and holding her brother by the hand ; he angry, flushed, with fiery 

eyes, meeting accusation with denial or with charges oi his o^a. 



THE FORSTERS. ig 

When the angry wife flung out of the room, the poor father would 
turn a perplexed face to his children. 

' It is hard,' he would say, ' that a man cannot come home and 
hang up his wig and find peace without quarrels and fault-findings. 
Tom, you villain, why anger madam ? Dorothy, child, go ask 
pardon for both, and then sit down and let us be bappy.' 

Peace was attained presently, when, in a happy day, Mr. Hilyard 
came to the house. No one, before his arrival, understood how to 
treat the fancies of a whimsical woman, to humour her prejudices, 
and to keep her in good temper. Of Mr. Hilyard, more presently. 
For the moment, sufficient to note that my father soon learned to 
trust in him for the maintenance of an unclouded sky at home ; my 
stepmother looked to him for such personal services and attentions 
as were necessary to keep her in good temper ; my brother Tom, 
for such money (to be begged of my father) as he wanted for his 
personal pleasure ; Jack, for mediation in order to save him from 
punishment ; and I myself, for amusement and instruction, com. 
bined with the fingering of the spinet, of which I was always fond, 
and over which I attained, thanks to Mr. Hilyard, a proficiency (I 
may fairly say) equalled by few. There was never, sure, such a 
tutor in any family as Mr. Antony Hilyard. 

By my mother's side we came from the Bamborough Forsters — a 
branch of the family more distinguished in the world than the main 
stock, and remarkable for the gifts of politeness and love of learn- 
ing. Madam Frances Forster was the elder daughter of Sir William 
Forster, of Bamborough and Blanchland, by Dorothy Selby, hia 
wife, daughter of Sir William Selby, and granddaughter of Ferdi- 
nando, Lord Fairfax. There were nine children of this marriage, 
viz., William, the eldest, who married his second cousin, Elizabeth 
Pert Forster, who died in 1698 without issue (she afterwards 
married Lord Stawell, and enjoyed a charge of £350 a year upon 
the estate) ; John, the second son, who died unmarried in 1699, 
aged thirty-one years ; Ferdinando, of whom more immediately ; 
Frances, my mother ; and Dorothy, the youngest, whose birth 
caused the death of her mother. 

This Dorothy, my aunt, grew up a most incomparable beauty, the 
equal of whom was not to be seen anywhere in the county. In 
those days, and until the death of Ferdinando, there was open house 
kept at Bamborough, with so much company and such prodigality 
and lavishing of good things as no other house in the county could 
show. It was ever a distinction between the Forsters of Btherston 
and those of Bamborough, that the former were quiet gentlemen, 
lovers of home, and not profuse of expenditure ; while the latter 
were large-handed, hospitable, and never so happy as when they 
were spending money with open hands and both hands. True, they 
had a great estate ; but there is no estate, not even his who owns 
Potosi or Golconda, but requires care in the spending. Sir William 
first, and his sons afterwards, lived as freely as if they had a$ endless 
revenue. They were est spendthrifts, nor d they throw money 

•2. .9 



20 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

away in riotous living, like him who was reduced to feed with the 
pigs ; but they lived at a great rate : their house was always open 
for anyone who chose ; their stables were full of horses ; their 
cellars full of wine ; their rooms full of company ; grooms and 
varlets in plenty lived upon them ; they even went to London. 
Madam, I remember, was for ever wondering how the Bamborough 
people could afford, even with their means, this great expense, and 
looking forward to a sudden end. But she was one of those women 
who rejoice to play the part of the Trojan Princess, constantly 
foretell disaster, concern themselves continually with the affairs of 
other people, and are never so well pleased as when they have some 
fresh misfortune to discuss, or some certain calamity to predict. 

To the beautiful Dorothy the coming and going of fresh company 
meant the arrival and dismissal of so many lovers, for all men fell 
in love with her at first sight. Those who were too old lamented 
their youth ; those who were married wished they were single for 
her sake ; those who were rich trusted in their acres ; those who 
were poor hoped she would accept their poverty, In a word, they 
all with one consent began to ask her in marriage before she was 
seventeen years of age. But she would have none of them ; not 
from pride, nor from a desire to make a great match (because, being 
a Forster, she knew that she could marry no one better than a plain 
Northumberland gentleman), but because she was young and happy, 
contented to wait single for a while, and because of all the lovers 
there was none who touched her heart. 

' My dear,' she said to me once, long afterwards, ' a maid so young 
is simple, and expects more than she can get ; this man is too tall, 
that man too short, another too fat, another is boorish, another 
drinks too much wine, another has a hasty temper — as if she must 
needs have a man made on purpose for her. The gentlemen pleased 
me well enough to converse with, though sometimes they were 
coarse in their talk (a thing which gentlewomen cannot too strongly 
reprehend) ; but I liked not the prospect of spending my whole 
life with any one of them all. I desired, in short, more than a plain 
gentleman can be expected to give. Heaven granted my desire, 
save for one small particular, which, perhaps, I forgot to pray for, 
or I might have had that as well. My husband, most admirable in 
ail other respects, had lost, when I married him, what many young 
women would prize the most — his youth. Yet he hath given me a 
great place and high rank, with learning and piety even beyond 
what may be looked for, even in a bishop ; wisdom more than one 
expects, even in the House of Peers ; and, my dear, unfailing love 
and consideration for woman's weakness, which is as rare as it ii 
delightful.' And with that her beautiful eyes filled with tears— but 
not of sorrow. 

For there came to Alnwick when she was staying in their house 
in that town, being then but just eighteen, the great Bishop of 
Durham, Lord Crewe, upon a confirmation. Perhaps, but I am not 
sure, she was herself confirmed by him on that occasion. He was 



THE FORSTERS. 21 

then fifty-six years of age, and, though there is so great a disparity 
between fifty-six and eighteen, and between a grave bishop and a 
giddy maiden, his lordship fell in love like any young country 
squire with Dorothy, and proposed to marry her. To me it seems 
a truly awful thing to marry a bishop of the English Church, and I 
am not surprised that Dorothy refused him. Being still in her 
youth, she was naturally inclined to gaiety, mirth, laughter, dancing, 
and the company of the young, which is a quite sufficient reason 
for her refusal, and we need seek no farther. Yet it was a great 
match, for he was not only Bishop of Durham (that is, a Prince 
Palatine, with power to appoint his own sheriffs, and almost 
sovereign in his own diocese), but he was also a great statesman (he 
had made many enemies in his political career), and, besides this, a 
peer of the realm by birth and succession, the only member of his 
sacred profession who could boast of that distinction. 

When his lordship found that his suit did not prevail he went 
away, and presently married a widow — Penelope, the relict of Sir 
Hugh Tynte. But when, ten years later, she died, he found that 
he still remembered the beautiful Dorothy — probably he had never 
forgotten her— and he again offered her his hand and title. 

' Child,' she told me, ' when one arrives at twenty-eight, the 
pleasures of youth have all been tasted. I had been to London, 
and seen the glories of the park, the theatre, the gaming-table, and 
the town of London. Kbthing is solid, I had already learned, 
except the joj's of rank, dignity, and wealth. When my lord came 
to me again, he was, it is true, ten years older — he was sixty-six— 
yet I assure you that he bore himself still with the uprightness and 
strength which most men show at forty, having no shadow of ail- 
ment or weakness, or touch of infirmity. I was, therefore, sensible 
of the great honour he proposed to me when he asked me again to 
become his wife. My dear, that venerable hand which I presump- 
tuously rejected at eighteen, I accepted with gratitude at eight- 
and-twenty, and have had no reason since for a single day to regret 
my decision. Pray Heaven my lord hath continued to regard his 
marriage with the same feeling of satisfaction !' 

Of that, indeed, there could be no doubt, because the Bishop re- 
mained to the end an ardent lover. 

Such, then, was the family of the Forsters — a goodly trunk, with 
many vigorous boughs — their original seat at Etherston, with 
many stately houses and broad lands, belonging to the offshoots 
and younger branches : a House received with the respect due to an 
equal by all the great Northumbrian families, one which is num- 
bered among those whose origin mounts to the time of the Con- 
queror or earlier. Their name is not like that of the Fenwicks or 
the Swinburnes, of territorial origin, but is, perhaps, a corruption 
of Forester. They were, Mr. Hilyard says, the family who first 
seized upon the forest, or they were the King's foresters. In the 
old times, when they were always fighting, there was need of as 
many as could be produced, for the men were mostly doomed to 



22 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

early death fighting on the Border, and the women, more to bo 
pitied, doomed to mourn for husbands, sons, and brothers. So 
that to both alike fate was unhappy. But that time has passed 
away. There is peace upon the Marches ; and if wicked men stir 
not up the waters of strife, it is a time for sitting every man by 
his own fireside, his wig hung upon one peg, and his sword upon 
another, his helmet placed beside his forefather's monuments in 
the church, above the old coat of mail, a pipe of tobacco in his 
mouth, a brown tankard of October upon the table, with him a 
friend or two, and talk grave or cheerful, as the time and mood 
may suggest, while the sun slopes westward, and the shadows 
lengthen, and the dark crypt of Bamborough Church draweth 
nearer every hour. 

The way in which Tom Forster, junior, of Etherston, became 
Tom Forster of Bamborough, was as follows : 

On August the 22nd, in the year of grace seventeen hundred and 
one, Mr. Ferdinando Forster, Member of Parliament, the youngest 
and only surviving of the three brothers, was entertaining a com- 
pany of gentlemen to dinner at the Black Horse Tavern in New- 
castle. Now, there had been anger (for what reason I know not, 
and have never heard) for a long time between Mr. Forster and 
Mr. John Fenwick, of Rock. It has always been maintained Mr. 
Forster was a gentleman of easy and cheerful disposition, who bore 
no malice, and was unfriendly to no one ; also that he was ready 
and willing to come to an amicable settlement of their differences s 
whatever they might be, hating nothing so much as bad blood, and 
being ready to forgive private injuries so far as his honour would 
allow. Unfortunately Mr. Fenwick was of an opposite tempera - 
ment, being choleric, vindictive, and hot-headed. Also conceiving 
that he had been wronged, he went about demanding vengeance, 
and breathing threats whenever he should meet his adversary. 
"Was it not, therefore, a most unfortunate accident that he should 
be in Newcastle on that same August morning ? And what should 
be said of the mischievous wretch (reported to be mad Jack Hall) 
who informed this angry man that his enemy was at the Black 
Horse ? Thither he rushed, maddened by his great wrath, and, 
bursting into the room where Mr. Forster sat with his friends, did 
assail him with reproaches, insults, curses, and foul names of so 
outrageous and intolerable a kind that there was nothing for a man 
of honour to do but (having first called upon his friends to take 
notice that the quarrel was forced upon him) to rise and follow the 
aggressor into the open street. At the White Cross they stood, and 
both drew their swords. Mr. Hall, who had followed Mr. Fenwick, 
drew his sword as well, with intent to act as second. Just then, 
before the weapons had crossed, Mr. Forster's foot slipped, and he 
fell upon the stones. "What followed is dreadful to tell, and shows 
how rage may make even an honourable gentleman blind and mad. 
For Mr. Fenwick, without waiting for his adversary to recover, or 
to be in a position to defend himself, instantly ran him through tha 



THE FORSTERS. 2j 

heart, so that he fell dead. It has always been said that Mr. Hall 
should have prevented this cruel murder by striking up Mr. Fen- 
wick's sword with his own, and there are not wanting those who 
call him as much a murderer as the unhappy man himself who did 
the deed. I know not how this may be ; but so much is certa'n, 
that nothing afterwards ever prospered with Mr. Hall ; but he was 
pursued with continued disaster to the day of his violent and un- 
timely end — a clear mark of Heaven's displeasure. They seized 
Mr. Fenwick red-handed, so to speak, and lodged him in prison. 
A month later he was led forth and hanged for the murder — a 
melancholy and disgraceful end for a gentleman of his birth and 
fortune. 

The intelligence of this terrible crime was brought to Etherston 
by Mr. Hilyard the next day. He lay at Bamborough that night, 
and so heard the news among the first. Madam was sitting in the 
garden with the two boys and Dorothy, Tom being then seventeen 
and Jack five years younger. 

'Alas !' she cried, when she heard the news — the children looking 
at each other in amazement, not knowing what to say. ' Alas \ 
sure some great wickedness, boys, must ha^e been committed by 
your mother's family. First it is John, then William, and now 
Ferdinando ; alJ gone in three years. Of nine children there remains 
but one. Some sins, we are assured, are visited upon the third and 
fourth generation. Tom, it would become thee to repent, lest it 
be visited upon thee as well.' 

' When I find out what I am to repent of,' said Tom sullenly, 
because he loved not to hear the least reflection upon his mother's 
family, ' I will repent. My mother's family have brought nothing 
but honour to us, as far as I know. There is credit in being worth 
notice. Now, a Lawes might steal a pig and be hanged for it, and 
his grandchildren never a penny the worse.' 

1 With submission, madam,' Mr. Hilyard interposed hastily, to 
prevent further words, 'this crime may lead to your stepson's 
singular advantage. For, if Mr. Ferdinando hath left no will, 1 
mistake much if the estates do not devolve upon him, or upon him 
and Lady Crewe together.' 

' Will Tom have Bamborough ?' madam asked. ' Then he must 
not have Etherston as well. That,' she added, thinking of her 
own son, not yet born, ' should be divided among all the other 
children, however many there may be. The law-is unjust as regards 
the younger sons. No woman would ever be a second wife did she 
know how her own children would be served.' 

' I doubt not, madam,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that should the oc- 
casion arise, his honour will prove as just and as generous as you 
would desire.' 

' Their father,' madam replied, tossing her head, ' would give all 
to Dorothy had he his own way. When justice is to be done, Mr. 
Hilyard, come to me about it.' 

'As for me,' cried Tom, the brave lad, his face suddenly flushing, 



24 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

1 it will be my business to avenge the death of my uncle. Wnat 
The breath only just out of his body, and we are talking of hi« 
succession !' 

' Nay,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' as for the murderer, he is in prison 
they say that he will be tried for his life. Let me advise you rathei 
to keep this melancholy story before your eyes as an example, nevei 
to be forgotten, of the danger of ungoverned wrath, which Lao 
tantius calls a cruel tempest of the mind. Thus, as is recorded, 
began the madness of Ajax.' 

They brought the body of Mr. Forster to Bamborough, and 
buried him in the crypt below the chancel. It was observed tbj t 
no longer procession had ever been known at the funeral of an? 
one : nay, it is even said that when the coffin was borne into tne 
church, the tail of the long line of mourners was yet a whole mile 
away from the porch, and they had to wait till all had reached the 
church, though all could not find room within, before they began 
the words of the Funeral Service. The chief mourner was my 
brother Tom, and after him my father, at the head of so great © 
gathering of Forsters that you might think them an army in them- 
selves. Then came the county gentlemen and private friends, an*? 
lastly the tenants and the common people, who wept tears of un 
feigned sorrow, for they had lost a landlord and friend of a kind 
heart, although one who spent at a great rate and lived beyond his 
income. The foxhunters gave their brother sportsman the last 
view -holloa, as one fires a volley over the grave of a soldier ; and 
the Manor House provided a noble supper for all the mourners, of 
high and low degree, with as much drink of all kinds as their grief 
could crave, so that few, indeed, departed sober from that last 
tribute of respect to the murdered man. 

It was proved to be as Mr. Hilyard thought — Mr. Forster had 
made no will. Therefore, the Bamborough estates fell to Lady 
Crewe and Tom as coheirs, each to take a moiety. 

' Dorothy,' Tom cried, ' what we agreed to do shall be done. As 
soon as I am of age, and can go to live at the Manor House, thou 
Bhalt come too, and we will live together.' 



CHAPTER III. 

THE HEIK OF BAMBOEOUOH. 

A NOBLE inheritance indeed, even if one only had a moiety or half 
part 1 Not only did it include the manors of Bamborough and 
Blanchland, but also the Rectory and Monastery of Shotley, the 
Manor of Thornton, wi th houses at Alnwick and elsewhere, fishing- 
rights on Tweed and Derwent, and presentations to four livings 
and chapelriea. Tom never wearied of enumerating his lands and 
possessions. 
• As to her ladyship,' he said, ' she may Lave children and she 



THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH. 25 

may not. If she have none, then the whole will be mine. And 
whatever happens, we shall live in the Manor House, Dorothy, and 
Vfe will have a noble time — you and I together. She has a dozen 
palaces and castles ; she will surely not grudge me the simple 
Manor House of Bamborough.' 

But as yet he wanted three years of twenty-one, and for the 
present ho must needs have patience. 

Presently, little by little, there began to leak out reports that all 
was not as it should be with the estate. For first we heard of a 
charge of £350 a year in favour of my uncle Will's widow — a 
monstrous and most greedy jointure, truly, when one considers 
that on many estates as large as that of Bamborough a poor £40 a 
year is all that a younger son or daughter may look for. Next we 
heard of a rent-charge of £500 a year created by the late Sir 
William Forster to pay for some of his profuse expend itirre. This 
was bought u,p by Lord Crewe, no doubt at her ladyship's expressed 
desire, for £10,090. But the Bishop was one ©f the most wealthy 
men in the kingdom, and could well afford even so great a sum. 
Here, however, was a goodly cantle cut out of the estate. Half 
the annual rent gone at once. Tom, for his part, showed little or 
no concern about it. 

'There remains,' he said, 'another £800 a year, besides the bouses. 
There is a good deal to be done with the half of £800 a year. And 
I am the heir of Etherston as well.' 

He looked on his heritage of Bamborough as a means for living 
as he wished until the Etherston property fell in. 

Yet he ought to have felt that there is a sad falling-off from the 
£1,600 or so of revenue received by Sir William, to the enjoyment 
of only a moiety of £800 a year. There were other creditors and 
claims upon the estate also, of which we knew nothing, and happily, 
as yet, suspected nothing. 

The heir of both Bamborough and Etherston was a much more 
important person than the heir of Etherstoa alone. Lady Crewe, 
who, to speak the truth, took little notice of her sister's children 
while her brothers were living, now showed a very particular in- 
terest in Tom, and wrote many letters upon his course of life, both 
to him and to his father. She begged earnestly that he might go 
to Cambridge, pointing out that, although her nephew's inclination 
lay not much, as she understood, in the direction of books, it would 
be well for him to make the acquaintance at that ancient seat of 
learning of the young men, his contemporaries, and to learn how 
matters of importance are regarded, outside Northumberland. 
Tom, therefore, went to St. John's College, as a gentleman com- 
moner, with Mr. Hilyard for his tutor. Here, however, he remained 
but three or four terms. Then her ladyship pointed out that a 
country gentleman has to become a magistrate, so that it is most 
desirable for him to know law, and entreated him to enter at 
Lincoln's Inn, and to reside in London for a part of each year, in 
order to study the Acts of Parliament and the powers of a justica 



26 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

of the peace. To this, however, Tom objected, Saying that his 
father and his grandfather had been justices without going to 
Lincoln's Inn, or knowing any law at all, and that, to his mind, a 
gentleman should not dirty his fingers with the quibbles and shifts 
of lawyers. In this opinion he continued, although he was re- 
minded that one of his cousins had been Sir Thomas Forster, 
Justice of Common PJeas under King James I., and another, Sir 
Robert Forster, no less than Lord Chief Justice of England under 
Charles I. Then Lady Crewe wrote another letter, in which she 
clearly told her nephew that his rusticity and that of his friends 
was such as to unfit him for the posts of distinction open to the 
owner of Bamborough (her brothers, indeed, especially Ferdinando, 
had been gentlemen of courtly and finished manners, acquired 
among the most polite society of St. James's) : and that if he 
would neither study law nor letters, it behoved him, under proper 
tutelage, such as that of Mr. Hilyard, to travel into Italy, and so 
to acquire the manners of the great world. I knew not at the time, 
and none of us were courtiers enough to discern, that her ladyship, 
in taking all this trouble, was endeavouring to make Tom under- 
stand her design ; namely, to make her nephew the successor of 
her brothers, and no loser by their prodigality, provided only he 
would show himself worthy of her bounty. 

This project she never abandoned, being always most jealous for 
the honour of the Forsters, although the events which followed 
prevented her from carrying it into effect. Yet Tom was so foolish 
as to fall into a great rage upon receiving her letter, alleging that, 
as for his manners, he was not ashamed of them, and they were 
those of his father and his friends ; that he was not, for his part, 
going to become a London beau ; and as to travelling in foreign 
parts, to be sure the Prince was in France, but what had an 
English gentleman to learn from a set of mangy French and 
scurvy Italians ? And as for distinction and the holding of high 
posts, he might show her ladyship some day that he was as capable 
of distinguishing himself as any man in Northumberland — rusticity 
or no rusticity. 

' Thou wilt not be guided by the wisest of women, boy,' mj 
father said. ' She is the wisest of women, because she is led by 
the most crafty and the wisest of men. Thou wilt neither to 
London nor to foreign lands, though here is Mr. Hilyard longing 
to go with thee. Well, stay-at-homes have little wit ; ignorance 
breeds conceit. I have myself been to London and seen the 
Court ; but as for thee, Tom, thou art pure rustic. Besides 1 , 
though I am a simple and unlearned person, content to stay at 
home, they will not, I fear, suffer thee the same liberty. For thou 
hast more to lose ; and where the carcase is, thither the eagles 
gather.' 

Then Lady Crewe privately exhorted Mr. Forster to take cara 
lest his son, through ignorance of the world, should be tempted 
into Borne rash enterprise, like that of Sir William Feuwick, who 



THE HEIR OF BAMBOROVGH. 27 

was executed for treason in the year 1696 ; to remember that fierce 
spirits were always abroad, endeavouring to stir up immature 
risings and to hatch foolish plots for the destruction of unhappy 
gentlemen ; and to be assured that though her own favour and 
that of her husband would be continued to her nephew should he 
move prudently, that favour would certainly be withdrawn should 
rashness plunge him into difficulties with the Government : with 
much more to the same effect. 

' Her ladyship is right,' cried my father. ' None so hot for the 
Sovereign as my Lord Bishop till King William comes to the 
throne. Then he must needs run for it and try the air of France. 
Running is a very noble exercise when you are young. My lord 
is out of favour now, and he is getting old, and would fain stay 
where he is, and I think he would like to taste once more the 
sweetness of Court smiles ; but still, one who loves the old House. 
This should be thy safest plan, Tom. Be guided by the Bishop. 
He will never go over to the other side, and yet he will never put 
his neck in the noose. Wherefore, my son, remember that con- 
spiracies are hatched by men who have got nothing to lose ; it is 
easy for a landless Irishman to talk wild and vapour, but for us, 
who have a name and an estate which we have held together for 
seven hundred years and more, the risk is too great. I do not say, 
neither, that we are to turn Whigs. We who fought for the 
Stuarts stand by them still. They made my grandfather Sheriff 
and Knight ; they gave Sir Claudius the Manor of Bamborough ; 
saving our religion, and our estates, Tom — and our estates, boy, 
mind that — we must follow the Stuarts always. When the voice 
of the country is clearly for the Prince, the Forsters will come 
with the rest. But when thwacks are going, let those who began 
get the first of the hammering, while we stand by and see which 
way the battle is likely to go. Therefore, when thou art of age, 
Tom, take care to write nothing, to promise nothing, to sign nothing. 
As for what may happen, we know nought. The Dutchman hath 
no children : let us wait ; the Princess Anne may follow, but we 
know not. Let us wait, and meantime lie snug all.' 

However, there were two years to wait before the coming of 
age, which was in the year 1702. By consent of Lady Crewe, 
Tom was allowed during this time to use the Manor House as if 
it was already his own, and many were the days which we spent 
in the old place, sometimes with Mr. Hilyard for tutor and com- 
panion, spending whole weeks there. The house was not larger 
than Etherston Hall, but it was, in a way, more splendid. There 
were portraits on the walls of Sir Claudius, Claudius his nephew, 
Sir William, his three sons, the wife of the eldest, my own mother, 
and my aunt, the beautiful Dorothy. Truly there never was a 
more lovely and charming face than that of this portrait, the 
original of which I had never seen. It represented her at the age 
of twenty or twenty-one. She had a face round rather than oval ; 
a sweet, rounded, dimpled chin ; a mouth more like a rosebud thau 



28 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the lips of a woman ; light brown, curling hair, lying in a cluster 
about her forehead, which, Mr. Hilyard said, was too ample foi 
the Greek idea of beauty, their Venus being low of forehead ; the 
nose was full ; the eyes were dark brown, and of a singular bright- 
ness. I reflected with inexpressible joy, when looking upon this 
sweet face, that my own eyes were of the same colour and bright- 
ness, and my own hair of the same hue, and the same tendency to 
twist and curl itself about my forehead. When gentlemen, past 
the age of thirty or so, came to the Manor House, they gazed at 
the portrait and sighed, remembering her beauty, and thinking, no 
doubt, how great a thing it would have been to marry so lovely a 
woman. When the young men came, they looked upon the 
portrait with such wonder as they might experience in looking 
upon that of Helen, Cleopatra, or fair Dido. 

' She moyes,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' a goddess confessed. Never, 
since those fair women of old, has there been her like. Some- 
times I think that the incomparable Sappho may have had those 
eyes, which are yours also, Miss Dorothy ; and the chaste Lucretia 
that look, in which you yourself greatly resemble your aunt ; and 
even Venus herself that dimpled chin, which I am glad to see 
remains still in the family.' 

There were other portraits, but these were the best 

The house itself is of two stories, and is built in the jflodern 
fashion, having square sash windows .^'o on one side the door and 
one on the other. It looks from the f roii*. »pon a triangular green, 
planted with a clump of trees, having the village pant at the end, 
and a field at the base. On the right is the church, and on the 
left is the broad street leading to the castle. At the back is a 
garden, not so big or so well provided as that of Etherston, because, 
by the seaside, everything will not grow ; but it has a great store 
of herbs and fruit trees, with currants, gooseberries, and straw- 
berries in season, lavender and other plants for strong waters and 
perfumes, and herbs for medicine : notwithstanding which, Nature 
hath been so benevolent as to plant things for suffering man's 
solace in every hedge, so that, though there may be plenty of 
toothache in the world, there is also plenty of trefoil, yarrow, and 
groundsel-root ; and, though one may catch a cough, there is no fear 
of using up all the groutid-ivy , and, though men will cut them- 
selves with knives and sickles, their wives can gather for nothing 
as much comfrey, self-heal, and valerian as will cure their wounds. 

A goodly garden and ancient, with a trim lawn as well, on which 
bowls could be played ; and a sundial, which had marked the flight 
of time for many hundreds of years ; and a fountain, which was 
stopped, and would work no longer till Mr. Hilyard set it agoing ; 
and then we marvelled how we could have found the garden 
perfect without the pleasant plash of that jet of water with its 
little arch like a rainbow, and its sparkle in the sun. In every 
season — summer, winter, or autumn— it was pleasant to walk in 
the garden, and to look over the low wall at the end, and the green 



THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH. 29 

meadow beyond it, upon the broad sea which stretches away till 
sea and sky meet. A stormy sea it is when the north-east winds 
blow, and many have been the wrecks upon the rocks and islets 
off the shore. 

To live in the Manor House was in itself a help to Cure our 
rustic ways of thought and speech. For not only Were there 
portraits, but also pictures brought from abroad, pictures of Roman 
Ca'tholic saints — there was a martyr, I remember, set up as a target 
for the arrows of his persecutors ; and others of hunting-parties, 
and of battles by sea and land. Mr. Hilyard would stand before 
these pictures and discourse with great learning to me upon the 
Italian, Spanish, French, and Dutch Schools, and the chief merits 
of each. There was also tapestry, but not much. Mr. Hilyard 
has told me of the famous tapestry which he has seen in the 
Palace of St. James. There was a cabinet full of curiosities 
brought home by travellers in foreign parts — among them a stone 
picked up in the Garden of Gethsemane, and a garland of thorns 
bought in Jerusalem itself. This cabinet afforded Mr. Hilyard 
the opportunity of many a discourse. There were also books — 
not one shelf only, as we had at Etherston — but three or even 
four shelves. There was Baker's ' Chronicle,' Holinshed's ' History,' 
Sibbes's ' Soul's Conflict,' a volume of Jeremy Taylor, Camden's 
'Britannia,' Grey's 'Choregiaphia,' a 'History of the Lives, Travels, 
and Sufferings of the Apostles,' with pictures, very moving ; 
Record's ' Arithmetic,' the ' Marrow of Mathematics,' flartmann's 
' True Preserver of Health,' Drake's 'World Encompassed/ Evelyn's 
' Gardener's Almanack,' the ' Paradise Lost ' of Milton, the Plays 
of Shakespeare, Bacon's ' Essays,' Quarles's ' Emblems,' Butler's 
' Hudibras,' in which Mr. Hilyard greatly delighted — I know not 
why, because I could never read it with pleasure — and a great 
many more. I read in most of these books, and, I hope, sucked 
as much profit from them as was to be expected of a girl. To be 
sure, I had beside me always a most patient, learned, and kind 
commentator, who spared no pains to make me understand obscure 
passages, and to illustrate places which, before he spoke of them, 
seemed unintelligible. An ignorant reader is like a poor man with 
empty purse, who walks along a valley strewn with diamonds and 
precious stones, which he neglects because he knows not how price- 
less are the stones beneath his feet. Pity it was that Tom would 
neither read nor listen. 

On Sundays, when we all went to church in the morning, there 
was a great and noteworthy difference after Tom became the half 
owner of Bamborough. For, as often happens in old churches, 
this of ours was divided and parcelled out among the gentry. The 
north transept belongs to the Greys of Howick ; the south transept 
to the Radcliffes, although they are Papists ; the north part of the 
nave belongs to the owners of the Lucker, the south to the Forsters 
of Etherston, and the chancel to the Forsters of Bamborough. 
While, therefore, my father, with madam and Jack and the children, 



30 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

sat in their pew below the pulpit, Tom, and I with him, and Mr. 
Hilyard, because he was the tutor, walked proudly into the chancel 
and sat in a great pew raised three feet above the ground, so that 
you mounted by steps. The seats were lined with red velvet, very 
worn. Above us hung our own scutcheon, showing the Radcliffe 
fieur-de-lys among the Etherston martlets ; on the other side was 
the great marble monument of Sir Claudius, who died at Blanch- 
land ; and, hanging on the wall, the helmet and iron coat of some 
other Forster long since dead and gone. Beside us was the stone 
effigy, with crossed legs, called Sir Lancelot du Lac, concerning 
whom Mr. Hilyard had a great deal to say, as to whether he was 
not perchance a Forster, and thus misnamed from the tradition of 
some great exploit or deed of arms. 

It is an old and crumbling chancel. Among other things it con- 
tains an ancient window, through which the unhappy lepers outside 
might formerly see the elevation of the Host within. Separating 
chancel from nave, was an open screen of carved white stone, a 
good deal broken. When we stood up for the reading of the 
Psalms and the singing of the hymn, I could see through this 
screen the back of the vicar at the reading-desk, and in the pew 
below the pulpit my father's best Sunday wig in the crispest curl, 
and madam's hat and ribbons. Beyond the pews of the gentle- 
folk were the seats of the common people, worn black and shiny 
by generations of the humble worshippers. I suppose that in 
heaven there are no velvet-lined pews, with steps to mount, and 
stoves to keep one warm in winter ; but it seems fitting thus to 
separate gentle and simple, and doubtless even in heaven there are 
degrees — one cannot understand that a prince and a scullion will 
ever sit side by side. As for me, I confess that it was with pride 
that I sat every Sunday beside Tom in the chancel, reflecting that, 
although my father was the head of the older stock, the noblest 
and best of the family came from Sir John, the great Warden of 
the March, and Governor of Bamborough Castle — the most splendid 
possession of his grandchildren. 

There was never a day, when I was at the Manor House, but I 
passed some of it within the old walls, clambering, exploring, and 
running from one broken chamber to another, until I knew every 
chamber and every vault in the gi'eat pile. When I climbed the 
broken stairs and stood upon the giddy top of the half-roofed keep, I 
used to look around me with such pride as a Percy should feel a,* 
Alnwick or at Arundel. I was prouder even than my brother ot 
the stately place, though he never wearied of rehearsing the great- 
ness of his folk. A noble castle, indeed ! This is none other than 
the Castle of King Ida, called the Royal House. King Edwin 
lived here ; miracles were worked here by saints for the preserva- 
tion of the castle ; Willianj Ruf us sat down before it ; David 
Bruce was a prisoner in it ; the broaches in the broken walls were 
caused by thp cannon of the Yorkists. Why, whenever I read 
the history of England in Holinshed or Baker, I turned over the 



THE HEIR OF BAM BOROUGH. 31 

pages and looked out the places wV" , " r ' the castle is mentioned, 
and then my foolish heart would glow v, . . b pride. But surely there 
could be no more delightful place for a young girl's playground and 
place of meditation. The keep alone remains entire, out of all the 
towers, bastions, forts, and strong places which once stood here ; but 
their ruins still stand. In some places there are broken stone steps 
leading up to chambers whose floors are gone, windows gaping wide, 
and roof long since torn off ; in others there are deep dungeons, 
open now to the light of heaven. At night, I used to think the 
groans of dead prisoners still ascend to the sky. From the top of 
the keep one may look out to sea and behold the Fames lying 
beneath one as on a map ; to the north is Holy Island, with its 
ruined church and castle on a hill ; to the south is black Dunstan 
burgh, where the Seeker may be seen nightly by those who look for 
him ; and inland lie the fields and woods belonging to the Forsters. 
In early summer the rock on which the castle stands, black and 
terrible in the winter, is covered, wherever the least ruggedness affords 
space for a morsel of earth, with tufts of grass and flowers. There 
are the thrift, the bell campion, and the trefoil, crimson, white and 
blue, very pretty to look upon. Later on, the sandhills, about 
which the rabbits keep running all the year round in thousands, are 
covered with flowers of other kinds, the names of which I knew and 
their properties, thanks to Nurse Judith and Mr. Hilyard. 

Often Mr. Hilyard came here with me, telling out of his vast 
knowledge stories of the days when this place, now so silent and 
ruinous, was filled with knights and valiant men-at-arms, when the 
courts resounded with the hoofs of horses, the voices of the soldiers, 
and the clank of iron heels. He could restore the castle as it used 
to be, and would mark out for me the inner bailly, the outer bailly, 
the portcullis, the postern, the outworks, the chapel, the stables, 
the kitchens, and all, until in imagination I knew the castle, as it 
was when the Percies were its governors. No others came to the old 
castle except myself and Mr. Hilyard ; it was quite lonely and 
deserted. In stormy weather the waves leaped up to the very 
walls, while the gulls flew screaming and the wind whistled. In 
the evening, when the twilight fell, I would sit among the fallen 
stones, seeing in the shadows of the pile grim spirits of the dead, and 
hearing in the breeze the voices of departed saints, kings, knights, 
bishops, sad prisoners, brave men, and fair ladies, whose ancient joys 
and sufferings made this place as sacred as the churchyard. 

As for Tom, he cared little about the antiquity of the castle or 
its past history ; his chief desire being for the time to arrive when 
he could call the place his own and be out of tutelage, and his prin- 
cipal occupation being hunting of fox and of otter, riding, shooting, 
fishing, badger-drawing, bat-fowling, netting of partridges with the 
lanthorn, setting decoys for ducks, hawking on the seashore, stalking 
the wild bulls of Chillingham, cock-fighting, dog-fighting, with the 
other manly sports in which young men delight. He conversed 
inuoh wjth grpgms, keepers, feeders, »od falconers, aisd was experj* 



32 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

enced in every kind of sport. He also took great pleasure, in thos« 
days, in the wild-fowl shooting on the islands ; many a time he has 
taken me with him wh.en he had no other companion (Mr. H.ilyard'a 
stomach being una>le to stand the motion of a boat). Then we 
would sail through the waves to those wild and desolate rocks 
covered with the nests of the sea-birds which rise screaming from 
under th_e feet of the rare visitor. The cries of the birds, the whirr 
of their wings, the whistling of the wind, the dashing of the waves, 
are the only sounds upon these lonely islands where St. Cuthbert 
built his hermitage. They are, indeed, a truly fitting place for the 
gloomy recluse, who (though doubtless a holy man) dared to call 
the half of the Lord's creatures unclean, and forbade a woman even 
to set her foot upon the place where he resided. Many pious women 
have gone into voluntary retreat and hermitage, but one never yet, 
I believe, heard of a woman thus speaking of man as to call him 
unholy or unclean. The walls of St. Cuthbert's house yet stand in 
ruins on his deserted island, but there are now no human beings 
within their shelter. 

I learned to know all the birds by their flight, their cry, and their 
feathers — the St. Cuthbert's ducks who make nests of the sea-weed, 
the tomnoddies, the skouts, the guillemots, the shags, the kittiwakes, 
the gulls, the brockits, the rock-pigeons, the sea-larks, and the jack- 
daws who build in the rabbit-holes. In those days, who so brave 
and handsome as young Tom Forster, leaping lightly from rock to 
rock, fowling-piece in hand, his long hair tied in a ribbon, and 
blown behind him by the sea-breeze, his grey .eyes bright, and his 
cheek ruddy ? What but a splendid future could await a lad so 
gallant ? As for the girl who ran beside him, as agile as her brother, 
dressed in short petticoats and thick shoes with woollen stockings, 
she was a slip of a thing then, with dark brown eyes (like those of 
her aunt), and long fair curls flying under her hat. Her brother, 
though he sometimes swore at his grooms and thrashed the stable- 
boys, never had a harsh or unkind word for her, nor she any thought 
for him but of tender and true affection. Pity it was that one of 
natural abilities so good would never read and acquire wisdom. 

' The man who reads not,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' may get skill and 
knowledge, but scarcely wisdom. The hind and herd are men of 
great skill and knowledge, the one in ploughing, sowing, and reaping, 
the other in cattle and the creatures of field and forest. So the old 
wife in the village learns the virtues of all the herbs that grow, and 
the sportsman learns the ways of the creatures whom he hunts. But 
without books one knoweth not his brother man, nor his own posi- 
tion and importance, nor the proportion which one thing beareth to 
another ; as, for instance, the opinion of a Northumberland gentle- 
man compared with the opinions of the City of London, or that of 
Will's Coffee House. Thus the man of no books may easily con- 
sider his own importance to be much greater than it is in the eyes 
of others, and his own doctrines infallible, and his own way of 
thinking the only way possible for honest men. Especially there is 



THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH. 33 

the danger of over-estimating his importance. It was the ignorance 
as well as the ambition of the thief Diophon which caused him to 
burst and die with envy because, on his way to be hanged, be found 
that one of his fellows was to be treated to a gallows higher than 
his own.' 

I understood Mr. Hilyard to be talking of my brother Tom and 
bis companions, wherefore I resented the likening of Tom unto the 
rogue Diophon, even though he was an ancient Greek ; and he 
hastened to assure me that the comparison was not as to honesty 
but as to ignorance, which if it lead to self-conceit even in so base 
a person as a common thief, may much more do so in the case of a 
country gentleman of Northumberland. 



CHAPTER IV. 

HIS HIGHNESS THE PHINCE. 

As regards politics, I declare that I know nothiEg at all of what 
went on in London or anywhere else ; but, as for Northumberland^ 
I can safely assert that I have never known a time when there were 
not, continually, whisperings in corners, mysterious communications, 
breathless suspense, a coming and going of strangers or of gentle- 
men whom I knew to be in some way connected with the cause of 
the Prince. There were always great things going to happen, if we 
were to believe the people who made it their business to keep up a 
racket through the country in order to sustain and stimulate the 
loyalty of the party. His Highness was about to embark ; a great 
many thousand French soldiers were collecting for him ; everything 
was ready ; the country was strong for the Prince. According to 
these gentry, there never was any doubt at all about the voice of 
the country. Why, when after many years I journeyed to London, 
I was amazed to think of our own ignorance in believing all these 
statements. I do Mr. Hilyard the justice of saying that he never 
did believe them. He was, I know, a Whig by birth ; but, like a 
good servant, he became a Jacobite because we, in whose service 
he was, were of that cause. What did London think ? That was 
ever his cry. Not London of the coffee-houses and St. James's 
Street, but London of the City. Why, how strong and resolute 
must be the Protestant party of this present day, seeing that it has 
been strong enough to stomach a King who knew uz, word of 
English, so resolute as to keep him with his ill manners, his ugly 
mistresses, and his German Court, rather than have a Papist even 
with all the Christian graces — though of these unfortunately the 
Prince hath few, which one says with shame. This was not under- 
stood in the north ; many friends of the Protestant; gentry were 
Catholics ; they were English, however, first, and Catholics next ; 
not servants of the Pope first, and English next. 
' Why,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' these are not the Papist: we in the 



34 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

south have been taught to fear. Their priests are courteous gentle- 
men of good English families ; they show no wish to roast us at 
the stake ; they are all for toleration. I doubt whether, if London 
knew Northumberland, the country would any longer fear a Catholic 
King. I hear there are some in Scotland who believe that the 
King would be converted by his coronation, which I doubt. But 
his advisers, if they were English priests, not foreigners, would 
surely do the country little harm.' 

Mr. Hilyard always put London before any other part of England : 
doubtless with reason, as being the centre of all. And he acknow- 
ledged that the people of England will never forget the blood and 
fire of Queen Mary, nor will they cease to ask what security there 
is that another Papist Sovereign will not surround himself with 
other Bonners and Gardiners. Listening daily to the talk, I con- 
ceived a plan by which everything might be set right. Like all 
children's plans, it was impossible : for it was nothing less than 
that the Prince should imitate the example of Henry IV- of France, 
and for his crown change his faith. This, in my eyes, was all the 
easier, from the circumstance that, while Henry left the right for 
the wrong, our King would leave the wrong for the right. Wrong 
or right, it must have been choking to King James to hear, when 
he went to live in Rome — even in Rome, where he might look for 
applause and support, if anywhere — to hear, I say, as he is said to 
have heard, a Cardinal — one of the Holy College — whisper to another, 
with scorn unworthy of his sacred profession and dignity, ' Behold 
the King who threw away three crowns — for a mass !' 

There were busybodies who went up and down the country in 
these days whispering, reporting, conveying letters, drawing up 
lists, with a mighty fuss and pretence of secrecy. Some of them 
were disguised ; some sent letters by the hands of countrymen, and 
even gipsies, on whom they could depend ; some were Irish, who 
are ever ready to embark in any mad scheme ; some were country 
gentlemen or younger sons ; some, even, were High Church clergy ; 
some were Roman Catholic priests of the intriguing kind, who 
dressed as laymen — by dispensation, one may suppose. As for the 
sum of these whisperings, it was always the same. The country 
was ripe ; at a word, at the signal, the rising would be general ; the 
Prince was always ready. A brave captain, too, who had shown 
his valour at Oudenarde and Malplaquet (where, indeed, he was 
fighting against his own countrymen) ; one who was eager to lead 
his brave followers to victory, and to reward them generously with 
the spoil of the Whigs. These things were industriously spread 
abroad among the Jacobite gentry, especially of Lancashire and 
Northumberland ; it was firmly believed that the party was irre- 
sistible. And if the gentlefolk believed this, how much more the 
common people and the ignorant Scotch, who ran after their chief- 
tains to their own destruction ? Yet the events of the year 1707 
ought to have opened the eyes of the party when they saw a French 
tteet, well manned, well found, well armed, with six thousand 



HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCE. 35 

soldiers on board, fly ignominiously at the mere appearance of 
Admiral Byng and his ships. The Prince was on board the French 
commander's ship. He prayed to be landed on tne coast of Scotland 
— no one, whatever side he may have taken, can doubt the gallantry 
of his Highness in those days — but the prayer was refused, so that 
he returned to France, and presently, notwithstanding the French 
King's solemn engagements, was driven out of that country into 
the Papal Dominions. These things prove the value of the Grand 
Monarque's word, and also that the English will not have a King 
forced upon them by French bayonets. 

' We wait our time,' Tom said. ' When that time comes, the 
unanimous rising of the country gentlemen will be accepted as the 
voice of the people.' 

' Happy the man,' said Mr. Hilyard, stroking his chin, ' who rises 
the last.' 

' What ? And leave others the glory and the honours ?' 

He was still a lad under age, but in this way he talked ; he and 
his companions. 

' It will be the Protestant gentry,' he said grandly, ' though we 
shall allow the Catholics to join us, who will restore his Sacred 
Majesty. Then we shall find for him, perhaps out of Northumber- 
land, counsellors wise enough to assure the country's safety.' 

These were our dreams. Fatal dreams they were, which in the 
end destroyed so many. 

But always, in all these talks, the gentlemen spoke of the young 
Lord Derwentwater and his return. He would lead the Catholics 
of the whole country. He was a man of whose opinions, though no 
one had yet seen him and he was bnt a boy, there could be no 
doubt ; his loyalty was beyond all possible question, he was rich, 
he was young and ardent, he was reported to be possessed of every 
virtue. I heard so much talk of this young gentleman that he 
became in my imagination a person more important even than the 
Prince, concerning whom elder ladies already whispered and shook 
their heads. Besides, his Royal Highness stood too far away for a 
girl to think much about him. The kings of the earth are like the 
gods of the ancients— one does not picture them except on coins 
and in statues. But as for Lord Derwentwater, who would cer- 
tainly some day return to his own people, he must be as beautiful 
as David, as noble as Arthur, as splendid as Adonis, and as valiant 
as Orlando, or any of the Seven Champions. He was to one young 
damsel, and doubtless to many others, the Prince of the old wife's 
story. There are many such stories, but only one Prince for all of 
them. He is young and handsome, so was Lord Derwentwater ; he 
hath a noble and flourishing estate, so had my lord ; he hath a 
generous heart and a lavish hand, so had the young Earl ; he is Un- 
married and free to become a lover — a thing which always pleases 
a girl, though she need not be so foolish as to think him likely to 
become her own lover-— thus was my lord. To these qualities add 
that he had been the youthful friend, the companion, tho sharer o£ 



36 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the studies, even the cousin of that young Prince, now our lawful 
King, the rightful Sovereign of Great Britain and Ireland, acknow- 
ledged by most of the subjects (that is to say by all honest men) 
in these islands. He would tell the simple country folks when he 
came home of the appearance and countenance of his Royal High- 
ness ; he would come as a messenger, or an ambassador — say rather 
a Lieutenant-Governor — to the North Country, to keep their loyalty 
alive. 

The origin of the Radcliffes is so remote as to be unknown. 
Many of our northern gentry boast a descent from the Norman 
Conquerors. They, however, were nobles in still earlier times. It 
was not till two hundred years ago, or thereabouts, that a Radcliffe 
first came from Cumberland to the neighbouring county, when Sir 
William married the heiress of Dilston. The first Earl, Sir Francis, 
was created on the marriage of his eldest son Edward, in the year 
1686, with Lady Mary Tudor, daughter of Charles II. It was an 
unhappy marriage, but as to the reasons of the unhappiness, one 
need not inquire. It becomes not a mere private gentlewoman to 
pass judgment on the actions of Earls and Countesses ; yet it must 
not be forgotten that the Countess, within two years of the Earl's 
death, married two more husbands in succession. 

After the separation the Earl remained in London, in no way 
furthering (so far as I have learned) the cause of his rightful 
Sovereign. The Countess, however, took her four children to 
St. Germain's, where she brought them up in the Court, and among 
the personal friends, of the Prince. It was feared by some that 
their French training would have made them become Frenchmen 
in habits and in mind. This was not so, however, for it may be 
averred that there never were three young men who more ardently 
desired the greatness of their country, and more loved liberty and 
Constitutional Government, than these three. 

We were kept regularly informed of the Earl's movements and 
those of his brothers by the kindness of Sir William and Lady 
Swinburne, of Capheaton, who received and sent letters from 
London, Newcastle, and even St. Germain's. They were from the 
Earl himself, Sir William's cousin, from the Countess, and from 
Colonel Thomas Radcliffe, who chiefly lived in Newcastle. Sir 
William Swinburne's father married the first Earl's half-sister, and 
the union was blessed by the birth of four-and-twenty children. 
Considering that the first Earl of Derwentwater had eight daughters 
and four sons, while his father had six sons and seven daughters, 
all by his wife Isabel, daughter of Sir Ralph Grey, of Chillingham, 
there were plenty in the north who could call the young Lord 
Derwentwater cousin. 

We learned, therefore, from their letters, year by year, how the 
Earl and his brothers were in the hands of tutors, and were already 
showing great promise ; how they were pages to the Prince ; that 
it was decided not to let them carry arms in the French Kind's 
service ; that they would come to England as scoa as the Earl waa 



HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCE. 37 

of age, and so on, the news always keeping up oar cariosity about 
this young nobleman. 

To pass over several years, we learned, in course of time, that his 
lordship was now fully grown ; that he was a comely, well-pro- 
portioned, and handsome young man, accomplished in all manly 
exercises, fond of reading, and well instructed, acquainted with the 
names and pedigrees of the Northumberland families, who were all 
his cousins ; and that he was coming home to England without delay. 
Then the intriguers sent word of this, as of a most important event, 
about the country ; the messengers rode north and s*?uth with 
letters ; there was a stir in the north, and it was felt that now the 
time would shortly arrive for something to be done. 

'But,' said Tom, 'we Protestants may not be led by a Catholic. 
My lord must be content with being second.' 



MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 

When Mr. Anton}' Hilyard first came to us, as tutor to my brothers, 
he was a young man of twenty-one or twenty-two, not long from 
Oxford. He brought with him letters recommendatory, in which 
his learning was highly approved, and was sent to us by Mr. Fer- 
dinando Forster, who heard of him as a young man desirous of 
entering a gentleman's family as tutor, in the hope of becoming 
chaplain, and perhaps rising in the Church. Although a young man 
of great accomplishments and vast knowledge, he left his University 
without obtaining a degree, which was strange if anyone had. 
thought of inquiring into the cause ; as for so learned a scholar 
coming to take a tutor's place in a gentleman's house, that was 
nothing, because he was only the son of a vintner, and born in a 
place called Barbican, London. Such a place of honourable service, 
especially when the master is so easy a gentleman as my father, is 
one which all young men of his birth and parts should desirp, 
though some, as Mr. Hilyard hath himself often told me, go to 
London, and there court Fortune as poets, playwrights, translators, 
writers of vamped-up travels, compilers of sermons for such of the 
clergy as lack the ability to compose them, and such work, which is, 
I am informed, as poorly paid as it is miserable, and beneath the 
consideration of a man who values his own dignity. Mr. Hilyard 
could write and speak both the French and Italian tongues ; he 
was, besides, familiar with Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldsean ; 
he was skilled in many branches of the mathematics ; he could play 
on the spinet with great ease and dexterity ; he was an excellent 
geographer, and could discourse for hours upon a mappa mundi, or 
chart of the world ; he could tell the stars and their courses ; he 
could converse with intelligence and to the edification of nis nearara 
on almost any subject, being equally at home in Pern and in 



38 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

London ; knowing the Hottentots and Japanese as well &9 the 
London Scourers ; and even in matters connected with agriculture 
or housewifery he could talk learnedly, being familiar with the 
practice of the ancient Eomans both in their houses and on their 
farms. In a word, no knowledge came amiss to him ; he despised 
nothing ; when he took his walks abroad he was always noting 
something, whether the call of a bird or the habits of a weasel, a 
wild flower or herb of the field ; he would ask a gardener about his 
fruit, a shepherd about his sheep, a ploughman about the soil, a 
dairymaid about her cows. And what he learned he never forgot. 
I do not exhaust his accomplishments when I add that he was 
skilled in the art of fencing, and that here he found Tom an excel- 
lent pupil. 

It was impossible for any young man to be more grave, and even 
solemn, in his bearing and conversation ; when Mr. Forster invited 
him to drink with his friends, which he sometimes did, he was 
seldom greatly overcome with liquor, and even at his worst pre- 
served his gravity ; he displayed none of the disposition to levity, 
gallantry, profane talk, and impious scoffing which is manifested by 
so many young men of the present day ; no woman's reputation 
suffered by any act or word of his : no bishop could have been 
more blameless in his daily life. 

It shows the strength of youthful impressions that, although I 
know so much better, I can never now think upon virtue without 
there instantly appearing before my eyes the short squab figure of 
Mr. Hilyard. He wears a brown coat, and he has no ruffles to his 
shirt ; his face is round ; his nose broad, and a little upturned ; his 
lips are full and mobile ; his eyes are large ; it is neither the figure 
nor the face of a grave and learned person, yet was he both grave 
and learned. Socrates, I have heard, was remarkable for a face of 
great plainness, and yet was a very learned philosopher. Nor was 
it a face which one would expect to find in a man of so religious 
and severe a turn as Mr. Hilyard. He always went to church first, 
so to speak, and came out of it last ; his discourse was full of 
examples gathered from ancient sources and learned authors, re- 
commending the practice of good works. 

Conduct so blameless, gravity so singular, wisdom so remarkable, 
never before seen in a man so young, could not fail to command, 
before long, the confidence of all. Mr. Forster entrusted his most 
private affairs to the counsel of Mr. Hilyard ; madam earned her 
complaints to him as to one who would find redress ; his pupil, who 
loved not books, obeyed him, was shamed out of his rusticity, and 
was kept by him from those follies by which young gentlemen in 
the country too often suffer in reputation and imperil their souls. 
As for myself, he took from the earliest the kindest interest in my 
welfare, and taught me many things which I should never have 
learned but for him, especially to read and talk the French tongue, 
and to play on the spinet. Lady Crewe condescended to write to 
him concerning her nephew, and the Bishop sent him instructions 



MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 39 

as to the authors which Tom should be made to read. Tom did not 
read them, but he sometimes listened while Mr. Hilyard read them 
aloud, and in this manner, no doubt, he arrived at some knowledge 
of their contents. 

This preamble makes what follows the more astonishing. One 
evening — it was in August, and a few weeks before Tom came of 
age — while I was walking in the garden of the Manor House, the 
sun being already set, Tom came running and calling me : 

' Come, sister !' he cried ; ' come, Doll, quick ! There is some- 
thing worth looking at, I assure you.' 

He took my hand, and we ran into the village street, which was 
generally quiet enough at this time, but this evening there was a 
great noise of singing and laughing, and the playing of a fiddle. It 
came from the inn. 

'There is the rarest sport,' said Tom. 'A company of players 
are at the inn, on their way from Alnwick to Berwick. Who do 
you think is with them ? Mr. Hilyard !' 

' Mr. Hilyard with the players ?' 

' No other. Ho ! ho ! Laughing and drinking and playing. 
Yes ; you may open your eyes, Dolly, but there it is. No other 
than Mr. Hilyard ! You never saw the like ! Now, see ; if he 
knows we are watching him he will stop. We can go to the back 
of the house, and in at the kitchen-door. Hush ! Follow me, and 
don't speak or laugh.' 

We went on tiptoe into the kitchen of the inn, where the landlady 
was sitting. She held up her finger, screwed her mouth, nodded 
her head, and laughed, indicating by these gestures that something 
out of the common was going forward. She then gently opened 
the door which led into the best room — not that where the rustics 
sit on wooden settles and push the pot around, but that which is 
furnished with tables and chairs, used by gentlemen and the better 
sort. The company consisted of about a dozen — men and women, 
of various ages. They were not gentlefolk, yet they had an air 
very different from that of the country people. They were 
poorly dressed, yet had odds and ends of finery, one of the men 
wearing a scarlet coat and laced hat, planted sideways on hig 
great wig, and cocked like an officer ; another with tattered lace 
ruffles ; a third with a ragged coat of drugget, and yet a fine 
flowered waistcoat. As for the women, there were five, of whom 
one was old, two others middle-aged, two young. One of the 
last was pretty, after a bold and impudent fashion, having great 
eyes, which she rolled about, and large, comely arms. She was 
dressed very finely, as if she was about to mount the stage, with a 
silk petticoat and satin frock looped up, and she wore a low com- 
mode upon her head. A bright fire was burning, though the night 
was not cold ; a pair of candles were lighted ; on the table, which 
was pushed into a corner, stood a bowl of steaming hot punch ; and 
on the floor, prancing about by himself, with a thousand tricks of 
faca and twistings of his body, was — oh ! wonder of wonders, 



40 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

and who could have believed it? — no other than Mr. Antony 
Hilyard. 

' See him !' whispered Tom. ' Oh the pious and religious man !' 

Indeed, I hardly recognised him, so changed he was. Why, he 
had given, somehow, a martial air to his wig ; his face was twice as 
long as usual ; his eye was stern ; he wore the air of a commander- 
in-chief ; he carried his left hand upon his hip, as one who is a 
marshal or prince at the head of his army. And he was at least six 
inches taller. How a man can change at will his face, his stature, 
and his appearance passeth my understanding. (Nota bene. — The 
girl, Jenny Lee, was sitting in the corner of the room with her great 
black eyes wide opon and her mouth agape ; but of her I thought 
nothing, so stupefied was I with the transformation of Mr. Hilyard.) 

He beckoned to the actress who wore the silk petticoat, and she 
laughed, sprang to her feet, and — can such things be possible ? — be- 
came all in a moment changed, and was at once a great lady — a 
princess or countess, at least. Why — a moment before she was a 
common stroller of the company — and now 

' Pretty Bracegirdle herself — the fair, the chaste Celinda — could 
not look the part better,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' Now, frail Calista, for 
the lines.' Then they began to recite verses, walking up and down 
with strange gestures and great vehemence — she sometimes sweep- 
ing across the floor as if she had whole yards of train behind her ; 
he, as if clutching at a sword. 

It was the scene in the ' Fair Penitent ' in which the unworthy 
Calista receives the vows of Altamont. He says, with a face full of 
exalted joy and looks of the most tender love : 

' Begone, dull cares ! I give you to the winda 
Far to be borne, far from the happy Altamont I 
Calista is the mistress of the year : 
She crowns the seasons with auspicious beauty, 
And bids even all my hours be good and joyful.' 

To which she, repentant, though he knows not why, replies, hiding 
her head in her hands : 

' If I were ever mistress of such happiness, 
Oh ! wherefore did I play the unthrifty fool, 
And, wasting all on others, leave myself 
Without one thought of joy, to give me comfort ?' 

' He is not drunk, Tom,' I whispered, wondering ; because, at 
first, 1 thought that must be Mr. Hilyard's condition. ' It is beau- 
tiful. But what are they doing ?' 

' That is play-acting, simpleton. Look at him now !' 
They had stopped, and gone on to another scene. Mr. Hilyard 
was now another character ; his face expressed mingled emotions of 
scorn, pity, and sternness, while the actress declaimed the well- 
known lines beginning : 

' Is this the famous frier, d of Altamont?' 



MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 41 

After which came his turn, and he spoke like one who carries fate 
in his hand : 

' Alas ! this rage is vain ; for if your fame 
Or peace be worth your care, you must be calm 
And listen to the means are left to save 'em.' 

And so on — a strange wild scene of horror and reproach. 

Well, when they finished, there was a great shouting of applause, 
and a swearing, with needless imprecations, that Wilks himself 
could not have played the part better ; to which Mr. Hilyard 
replied, without any show or pretence of modesty, that indeed they 
were quite right, and that at Oxford he was always understood to 
be a great deal better actor than even that tragedian. 

He then hoped the punch was to their liking, and begged them to 
fill their glasses again, which they very willingly did. 

' Gentlemen,' he said, ' I will now give you another taste of my 
quality. You shall see that we scholars of Oxford are not without 
parts.' 

He thereupon took off his full wig, and borrowed a worn bobtail 
from the oldest of the company, who was sitting by the fibre, toast- 
ing his toes and drinking his punch, without taking any interest in 
what was doing. He might have been the father of the troop, and, 
in fact, was the father of some of them. Mr. Hilyard, then, borrow- 
ing this wig, put it on his own head ; and, to be sure, a most 
ludicrous appearance he did present. Never did one imagine that a 
change of wig could make so great a difference in a man's appear- 
ance. His face became short again ; his mouth was set askew, and 
he seemed laughing with his very eyes. 

' Why,' whispered Tom, ' who ever thought he could laugh at all ? 
He has been with us five years, and never a smile till now !' 

As the red firelight fell upon his face it seemed brimful of mirth, 
joy, and merriment, as if he could never do anything but laugh. 
His eyes swam with cheerfulness ; there was no such thing as care 
in the whole world, one would have thought. Yet the same face 
that I knew so well, although now I seemed never to have known 
it before. Oh ! figure of Virtue in a brown coat, and Piety with 
sober face, and Learning with decorous gravity, where art thou ? 

The actors looked at him with admiration. Not one of them 
could twist and turn his face so well. As for me, it ?ras not ad- 
miration, but amazement. 

' Didst ever see the like, Doll ?' whispered Tom. 

We still held the door ajar, and peeped through, unregarded by 
any of the company. 

Next, Mr. Hilyard, still with this face cf smiles, turned a chair 
down, and sat upon it as if upon a saddle. Then he folded his 
arms, and delivered an oration in verse, at which everybody laughed 
loud and long. For my own pare, I saw nothing to laugh at, for 
the verses were all about everybody being an ass — a thing to make 
people cry, rather than laugh. The cit, they said, was an ass, the 



42 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

soldier was an ass, the lawyer was an ass, the sailor was an ass, and 
so forth. Perhaps the punch made the company the better disposed 
to laugh. When the speaker had finished, they all protested, with 
profane oaths, that Will Pinkiman himself had never given that 
epilogue better. 

' VVill Pinkiman, gentlemen !' cried Mr. Hilyard, getting off his 
chair. ' A fig for Will Pinkiman ! Why, though to be sure he hath 
some merit, where is his fire compared to mine ?' 

' Where, indeed, sir ?' repeated the fellow in the scarlet coat, with 
his tongue in his cheek. ' A better than Will Pinkiman is here. I 
drink your health, sir.' 

' Gentlemen,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' an evening like this does one 
good. Believe me, I have never sung a single song, or played a 
single piece, for five years. In the north a man of my parts is truly 
wasted and thrown away.' 

' Come with us, sir,' said the youngest actress, who had played 
Calista with him. ' Sure, a gentleman like you would make a 
fortune on the boards.' 

' Nay, fair Calista, or Celinda, as thou wilt. There, indeed, you 
must hold me excused. Had your boards been the boards of Old 
Drury, it might be different. In that Temple of Thespis would be 
my proper home.' 

He then called for another bowl of punch to be got ready against 
the other's giving out, and taking up a fiddle which belonged to one 
Of the company, he struck a chord or two, and began to play very 
sweetly. First he played the tune of ' May Fair,' then of ' Cheshire 
Rounds,' then 'Ye Lasses and Lads,' and lastly he played 'The 
Countryman's Delight.' After which he laid down the bow, and 
looked about for applause, which came in thunders. 

' Why,' whispered Tom, ' I thought he could play none but 
Psalm tunes on the spinet.' 

This done — just, I suppose, to show the players another of his 
accomplishments — he gave back the fiddle to its owner, and requested 
him to play an air which he named, and, I suppose, was very well 
known, to which he said he would sing a little song of his own 
composition. 

' Lord !' Tom murmured, ' he is going to sing next.' 

He did sing, having a very sweet, melodious, and powerful voice, 
not slurring his words as some singers do, for the sake of harmonizing 
the tune, nor forgetting his tune in order to give more emphasis to 
his words, as is the way with others. 

' Sweet Amoret, 'tis you, I vow, 
Whose soft, prevailing- charms 
Have bound my hopes of heaven now 

To live within, to live within thine arms, 
• But if condemned by thy disdain, 

And of thy smiles bereft ; 
Still let me nurse the tender pain, 

Though no more hope, though no more hope be left 



MR. ANTONY HtLYARD. 43 

He stakes his all to win or lose, 

Who sets his hopes so high, 
And finds too late he cannot choose 

But still to love, but still to love — and die.' 

5 Mr. Tofts himself,' said the fair Celinda (or frail Calista), wiping 
ft tear — but I fear a false one — ' could not have sung this song more 
sweetly, or more touched my heart.' 

Mr. Hilyard smiled as one who is superior even to Mr. Tofts, 
and said that, for a private man, not a professor of the Art, he 
thought he had sung his own foolish song indifferent well. But, 
oh ! you may think of the surprise of the girl peeping through ths 
door. He to sing a love-song ! Would skies drop next ? 

Now I was not so young or so ignorant but I could plainly see 
that whether Mr. Hilyard acted or sang well or ill, the company 
were fooling him for the sake of his punch. Also that they looked 
on with approval while the girl with the soiled silk petticoat and 
the large eyes plied their entertainer with praise, and kept filling 
his glass between the performances. After the song she said that 
she would like nothing so much as to rehearse with him a scene 
from the ' Mourning Bride ;' that she had all her life been looking 
for some gentleman, not a common actor, but a gentleman (here 
the men grinned) who could not only give the lines with fire, but 
also look the part, and be as handsome in his person and courtly in 
his manner as Mr. Hilyard (here he stroked his chin and wagged 
his head and smiled, but the men grinned again, and took more 
punch). But, she said, taking out her handkerchief and weeping, 
unluckily, as all her friends present knew well, she could not afford 
a dress becoming to the part, and even had to play queens and 
chambermaids in the same frock, so unhappy she was. The other 
women murmured, ' Poor thing ! and Gospel truth ! and the Lord 
knows ! But a kind gentleman !' The men took more whisky 
punch, and Mr. Hilyard, now a little flushed with praise and punch 
combined, and the girl's eyes, which were kept fixed upon him (so 
the cunning snake charms the silly coney), and her wheedling voice 
— for she had a very soft and winning voice — began to shed tears 
too, out of compassion, and lugging out his purse, swore — could one 
believe that he should ever swear ? — that she should make such an 
appearance on the stage as would show off her beautiful face and 
lovely figure to the best advantage, and gave her two or three guineas. 
She fell on her knees, calling him her preserver and her patroii. 
The other women held up their hands, crying, ' Oh, the generous 
gentleman ! And this comes of a feeling heart, and of knowing 
what acting should be ! And heaven, surely, hath its choicest bless- 
ings for one so good of heart !' But the men took more punch. 

Then Mr. Hilyard raised the cunning jade (who I could see very 
well was only pretending) and lifted her on his own knee, and 
began to kiss her, the other women murmuring that an honest girl 
might let the gentleman have so much liberty in return for his 
goodness. 



44 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' Lord ! Lord !' murmured Tom. ' This after what he said 
to me only yesterday !' 

The men tipped the wink to each other, and drank more punch. 
Then, as Mr. Hilyard showed no sign of any more acting, one of 
them, putting dowa his glass, began to sing a song, at which the 
women stopped their ears and the men began to laugh, and Tom 
dragged me away. And so an end of the most wonderful evening 
ever seen. 

' Now,' cried Tom, ' what do you think of Mr. Hilyard, Dorothy ?' 

1 Truly, Tom,' I replied, ' I know not what to think or to say.' 

' Nor I. Well, he hath fooled us all ; but we have found him 
out. Why, if he had only told me before what he could do, what 
evenings should we have had in this dull old house ! After all, 
there are only a few months to wait. Dorothy, breathe not a word 
to my father or to Jack.' 

Amazed, indeed, I was that Mr. Hilyard, of all men, should per- 
form these antics ! As well expect the Bishop of Durham, Lord 
Crewe himself, that venerable Father of the Church, to stand up 
for the Cobbler's Dance, or the Yicar of Bamborough, a divine of 
great gravity, to grin through a horse-collar ! 

' In the morning,' said Tom, who seemed as much delighted at the 
discovery as I was amazed and grieved (for surely it is sad to find 
folly in a wise man's mouth — oh, how often had he admonished us 
both out of Solomon's Proverbs !) — ' ia the morning you shall see 
me smoke old Sobersides.' 

Well, in the morning, when I expected the poor man to appear 
crestfallen and full of shame, Mr. Hilyard came down exactly the 
same to look upon as usual, save that he seemed thirsty. To be 
sure, he knew not that he had been observed. Yet surely he must 
have remembered, with repentance, the foolishness of the night. 

' I have heard, sir,' said Tom presently, looking as meek as a 
sheep, ' that a company of players passed through the town last 
night.' 

Mr. Hilyard replied that a report to that effect had also reached 
his ears. He then proceeded to pronounce a eulogium on the Art 
of Acting, which, he said, was in his opinion second only to tho 
divine gifts of poetry and music ; that a man who was able to act 
should behave with modest gratitude for the possession of so great 
a quality ; and he proceeded to give examples to prove the greatness 
of actors, from Roscius, who made a fortune of fifty millions of 
sesterces —which seems a prodigious great sum, though I know not 
how many guineas go to make a sesterce — unto the great Monsieur 
Baron, still living, and the favourite of the Paris ladies, although 
he was retired from the stage for twelve years and more. 

' Have you yourself, sir,' asked Tom, ' ever witnessed the per- 
formance of a play in London?' 

' It hath been my good fortune on many occasions,' replied his 
tutor, ' to see the play both at Drury Lane and the Haymarket. 
Perhaps I may be permitted to witness tho exhibition of that 
divine Art again before I die.' 



MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 45 

' The best tragic actor is said to be Mr. Wilks, is he not ?' asked 
Tom, while Dorothy blushed. 

'Mr. Wilks hath certainly a great name,' replied Mr. Hilyard. 
' Though I knew not you had heard of these things, Tom.' 

• And in comic parts one Will Pinkiman, I have been told,' said 
Tom, ' is considered the best.' 

' He certainly is,' replied Mr. Hilyard, with some surprise. ' Who 
hath told you of Will Pinkiman ?' 

' Could you, sir, give us any example or imitation of this in- 
genious man ? One would like to know how Pinkiman, for instance, 
pronounced the comical epilogue seated on an ass, on whose head 
he had placed a wig.' 

Mr. Hilyard, somewhat disconcerted, changed colour, and drank 
off a pint or so of the small-ale with which he made his breakfast. 
Then he hemmed solemnly, and replied gravely : 

' Such an imitation is not, indeed, beyond my powers. And I 
perceive, Tom, that thou hast heard something of yesterday evening, 
and perhaps witnessed the entertainment which I provided for those 
poor but virtuous and ingenious people who passed the night at the 
inn. The Art of Acting was not included in the subjects which 
your father and Lady Crewe considered necessary for a gentleman. 
Therefore, I have abstained from ever speaking of it. Certainly it 
is no more necessary than that of painting, playing an instrument, 
sculpture, singing, carving, or any of those arts by which the daily 
life of the rich is embellished and in some countries the lives of the 
poor are made happy.' 

He then, with so much gravity that one could not but remember 
the merry face of last night, proceeded to discourse upon the im- 
personation of character, and actually depicted before us, without 
leaving his chair, and simply by changing the expression of his face, 
and by various gestures of his hands, the diverse emotions of pity, 
terror, awe, expectancy, resignation, wrath, revenge, submission, 
love, jealousy, and suspicion, and all so naturally, and with so much 
dignity, that we were awed, and when we expected to laugh, or to 
make the poor man ashamed, we were made ashamed ourselves. 

He concluded by warning us that, if we chanced to see a man 
who possessed this genius performing a foolish or mean part, we 
must be careful not to confound the man with the character which 
he assumed ; to remember that many illustrious persons, including 
the Grand Monarque himself, had figured in operas, ballets, comic 
pieces, and burlettas, not to speak of Nero, a great artist, though a 
great monster, and Commodus ; and to regard the stage as the 
tinest school in the world for virtue and good manners ; although 
as yet it must be owned, ho said, that there was still — as regards 
Comedy — something to desire. 

' Who would think,' said Tom, when ho had concluded, and left 
as gaping at each other, 'who would think that only yesterday 
evening he was hugging and kissing the actress ?' 

Now this event happened a very short time before Tom came of 



rfj DOROTHY FORSTER. 

age. He spoke no more about it to me, nor did Mr. Hilyard again 
discourse of acting. It was not till a week before his birthday that 
Tom opened upon the subject again. 

' Dorothy.' he said, ' I have been thinking that for Mr. Hilyard to 
$o away, when he hath become so useful to all of us, would bo a 
jreat pity.' 

' Why should Mr. Hilyard leave us, Tom ?' 

' Why, child, a man needs no tutor or guardian when he is twenty- 
.; ne years of age. As for you and me, we shall live together ; bat 
;}ou will miss him more than I, especially when I am away with my 
■h-iends.' 

' Oh, Tom, who will ' Bnt here I stopped, because there 

were so many things that Mr. Hilyard did for us that I could not 
tell which to begin with. 

'Who will keep the accounts — look after the cellar, the stables, 
and the dogs ; make my flies, look after my feeders and my cocks ; 
read books with you, talk about the Romans, spout poetry, and — • 
what, Dorothy ?' 

' Sing songs and play the fiddle, Tom ?' I asked timidly, because 
I had never dared to ask Mr. Hilyard to repeat that pretty per- 
formance. 

' And act like Will Pinkiman, and keep a whole roomful of men 
in a continual laugh — who, Dorothy ?' 

' Why, no one, Tom.' 

'There is no one. I believe thei-e is no one in all England who 
can act, and play, and sing like Mr. Hilyard, demure as he looks, 
and purring like a cat all these years. Dorothy, if madam had seen 
him !' 

' Oh, Tom ! Don't tell her.' 

' I am not going to tell her. Now, listen, child : I have a plan, 
and I will tell thee what it is. He hath been with us so long that 
he knows our affairs and our most private concerns. I doubt not 
that he is honest, and his play-acting — did you ever see the like ?' 

Tom fell into a kind of reverie, and remained speechless for a 
while. Then he broke out into a great fit of laughter, and began to 
imitate Mr. Hilyard's face and speech (but at a long distance) when 
he sat upon the chair : 

' " Your fighting ass is a Bully, 
Your sneaking ass is a Cit, 
Your keeping ass is a Cully, 
Your top prime ass is a Wit." 

How well he did it, sister ! I have thought it over, my mind ia 
quite made up ; I will ask him to stay with mo. He shall be my 
secretary or clerk, the steward of my affairs ; he shall keep my 
books for me, and deal with my tenants. As for me, I shall ride, 
shoot, fish, and entertain my friends ; in the evening, Mr. Hilyard 
shall have as much drink as he likes, and shall King, play, and act for 
the amusement of my company. I will give him, besides bis meat 
and drink, five-and-thirty pounds a year in money.' 



MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 47 

On the twenty-first birthday there were rejoicings and a great 
feast held. Strange to see how Torn (who had, to be sure, been 
longing eagerly for the day) stepped into his place, no longer a 
minor, but now one of the gentlemen of the county. His head had 
been shaved, and he wore for the first time, but rather awkwardly, 
a beautiful full wig, the curls of which, hanging over his shoulders, 
greatly set forth the natural beauty of his features, and lent dignity 
to his appearance. He was also dressed in a purple coat with 
crimson lining, a white silk waistcoat, and scarlet leather shoes with 
gold buckles (they had belonged to Mr. Ferdinando), and he wore, 
for the first time, a sword. 

' Now, Dorothy,' he said complacently, ' I feel I am a man at last 
Remember what I said about Mr. Hilyard.' 

Among those who offered their congratulations was tin tutor ; 
but he wore a sad downcast countenance, because he looked for 
nothing less than to be sent away, his business being at last accom- 
plished, and his pupil now of age. 

He laid down his office, he said, with as much regret as Seneca, 
once tutor to the Emperor Nero. ' But,' he added, ' my own worth 
falls as far short of that philosopher as my pupil's character sur- 
passes that of Nero. Wherefore, in parting from so generous a 
patron, I have no other consolation than the recollection of faithful 
service in the cultivation of so fruitful a soil as the brain of Mr. 
Forster, and the hope of letters recommendatory which may obtain 
for me other and equally suitable employment." 

' Truly, suitable,' said Tom, laughing. Mr. Hilyard blushed, but 
the rest wondered. ' As for parting,' Tom went on, ' there go two 
to make a parting. Why not stay with me ?' 

The poor tutor, whose face had been growing longer day by day 
for two months, shook his head. 

'My occupation,' he said, 'is gone.' 

' As for occupation,' Tom replied, ' what say you to board and 
lodging, as much wine and punch as you can hold whenever there 
is company, and five-and-thirty pounds a year ?' 

' But the duties — the work ' 

' Why — that is the work, to eat and drink, and make merry.' 

' Sir. Hilyard to eat and drink, and make merry ?' cried madam. 
'Make merry? He?' 

'Why,' said Tom, 'that is what we are asking him to do. He 
will be strange to it at first, I fear. But I warrant you, give him 
but a month, and you shall see a change indeed. He will then be 
able to sing like Mr. Tofts, act like Will Pinkiman, drink like 
— like any man among us, play the fiddle, and ' 

'Is it possible, Mr. Hilyard?' asked my father. 'Ho! ho! I 
believe no more in grave faces. This is indeed a hiding of lights 
beneath a bushel.' For the tutor hung his head and looked foolish. 

'If you want any other occupation,' Tom continued, 'there are 
accounts to keep, tenants to reprove, grooms and feeders to over- 
look, my sister to amuse, and, in fact, all the things you have done 
for the last five years.' 



48 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' Your honour means this seriously ?' asked Mr. Hilyard. 

' Certainly I do.' 

' Then, sir '—his face lightened, and he looked round him with a 
cheerful smile — ' I accept your generous offer gratefully. I confess 
that the position and work of a tutor have ever been distasteful to 
me, and I have only hidden those small accomplishments of mine, 
which now you have discovered, because I feared they would be 
considered inconsistent with an almost sacred calling.' 

'Why, then, there is no more to say,' cried Tom, 'except to 
Bhake hands upon it.' 

' Yet there is one condition, if I may venture——' 

'Venture, man.' 

' I pray that I be not expected to go fox-hunting. I love not, in 
truth, to risk my neck for a thing I never see, and which if I were 
to get I should not want.' 

4 That is granted,' said Tom, laughing, because some of Mr. Hil- 
yard's adventures on horseback had been ludicrous to the beholders, 
but painful to himself. 

' There is also one other thing.' Mr. Hilyard continued, with a look, 
sideways, at myself, of which I afterwards thought with a kind of 
pity. ' A faithful steward wants the whole day for the manage- 
ment of your honour's business and the occasions and services of 
Miss Dorothy. I would, with submission, ask that I be only invited 
to lay aside those duties in the evening, when I shall be always 
pleased to place my poor talents, such as they are, at the service of 
your honour and your friends.' 

' My hand on't,' said Tom heartily, ' and so, honest Tony ' — he 
called him Tony on that day and ever afterwards. Yet hitherto he 
had never spoken to him except bareheaded as to a parent or superior, 
and called him always ' Sir.' So quickly does a young man change 
when he comes to his twenty-first year. ' So, honest Tony, thou 
prince of brave topers, stay with me. Read your books with missy 
all the day, but, by gad, all night you shall sing and drink your fill 
with the best company in the county !' 

'Are we dreaming ?' cried madam. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 

It was in this way that our tutor remained with us. My brother 
never did a wiser thing, nor made a better bargain ; for if Mr. 
Ililyard was serviceable before, he was ten times as serviceable now, 
by his care and watchfulness saving expense here and preventing 
waste there. He took, in a word, the conduct of all Tom's affairs, 
showing himself as capable and competent in administration as he 
had been a faithful tutor. 
For my own part (not to "neak, jocire than can be helped, of the 



THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 49 

way in which his evenings were too often employed), I found him 
a much more delightful companion now that he had no occasion for 
the austerity of a tutor. Yet he preserved his gravity during the 
working hours of the day. 

' I may at some time of my life,' he said, ' take upon me the vows 
of Holy Orders, for which I have ever had an ardent desire. One 
would almost as soon preach in a London church as deliver verses 
on the boards of Drury Lane, except for the applause, which, iu 
the Early Church, was not wanting. Wherefore I still cultivate the 
habit of a decorous carriage. Yet I confess to you, Miss Dorothy, 
that there have been moments, before Mr. Forster came of age, 
when I have had a vehement yearning upon me to put on, as I may 
say, the old Adam. That temptation has now disappeared.' 

Probably, as he put on the natural Adam nearly every evening, the 
cause of the temptation was removed. 'Twas as if a gambler should 
cease to feel the desire for gambling in the morning after he had 
begun to gamble every night. Mr. Hilyard became, in fact, much 
more pleasant. He would play tender and moving airs upon the 
fiddle, and, though he reserved his powers of imitation and drollery 
for the gentlemen (ladies being too often unable to see anything to 
laugh at in what pleases men after supper), he would sometimes sing 
very sweetly such songs as 'Love finds out the way,' or 'Jockey's 
Lamentation.' And often when we were alone, my brother being 
away with friends, he would beguile an evening with a scene from 
Shakespeare, which he would act and read with surprising force. 

I need not speak of his powers wholly with admiration, because 
their exe-cise had led him, as will presently be seen, to disgrace and 
almost t ruin. It was, when one thinks of it, a truly dreadful 
thing for a man who was a scholar and a student of theology, of 
great learning, noble parts, and true eloquence, to be carried away 
by a love of buffoonery and the desire to display a monkey-like 
power of imitation. A pretty reward, indeed, of his labours as 
tutor, to be made the Merry Andrew, Clown, and Tom Fool of the 
whole company whenever Tom gathered his friends together. 
Ought they not rather to be ashamed of seeing so learned a man 
thus lower himself ? Yet they showed no signs of compunction or 
shame, but at each new monkey-trick they cheered the louder and 
laughed the longer. Happily, women are removed from this tempta- 
tion (though we have plenty left). We do not desire to be continually 
laughing, and we cannot understand what there is in most things to 
laugh at, nor why, because men get together, they must be for ever 
singing, laughing, and making merry. Fjverybody will understand, 
however, that this strange thing was speedily bruited abroad, and 
that the possession of this entertaining Oxford scholar brought 
gentlemen to our house. My brother, easy and hospitable, loved to 
entertain his friends, and they, not to be behindhand, constantly 
returned the compliment, especially in the hunting season, so that 
there was seldom a week without a feast and a carouse. 

My time, from the year 1707 to the year 1710, was spent chiefly 

4 



SO DOROTHY FORSTER. 

with Tom at the Manor House. In the latter year Lord Derwent water 
came home, which made a great change, as you will presently hear, 
for all of us. In the morning it was my duty, even when quite 
young, to order the household, so that I became, in course of time, 
a notable woman, skilled in the preparation of conserves, jellies, 
pies, cakes, biscuits, puddings, stuffings, strong waters, perfumes, 
and home-made wines ; good at embroidery, and able to play the 
fpinet with some freedom and delicacy ; also, I could make and 
mend, cut out, fashion, sew, and trim with any woman : in such 
pursuits my forenoon was entirely occupied, as well as that of my 
still-room maid, who was no other than that Jenny Lee, the Mid- 
summer Witch, when we all had our fortunes told — I am bound to 
say that, whatever her subsequent conduct, she was the most faith- 
ful, dexterous, and zealous maid to me, and I never had the least 
fault to find with her. My old nurse, Judith (who had been Tom's, 
aurse as well, and loved not madam), sat all day long in her arm- 
jhair, reposing after a life spent in faithful service. One morning 
she slept so long beside the fire that I tried to awaken her for 
dinner ; but could not, for she had slept through her passage from 
this world to the next. 

In the afternoon, dinner over, Mr. Hilyard would sometimes read 
aloud out of a book, or we would read French together, or he would 
discourse upon matters of high import ; or he would walk with me 
in the castle, or upon the sands, or across the fields, finding always 
Something of instruction. Let me never forget how much I am 
indebted to this good and patient man (good and patient all the day, 
that is ; though in those days somewhat deboshed with drink at 
night). It is through him that I learned something of history, 
geography, knowledge of the world we live in, and the stars beyond ; 
yea, even my humble gratitude to the Divine Designer and Archi- 
tect of the Universe, was first inspired by this modest scholar, in 
pointing out the wonders of the earth and the motions of the 
heavenly bodies. 

Very shortly after Tom came of age he received a letter from 
Lady Crewe, his coheir, which might have very seriously alarmed a 
man of a less sanguine and hopeful character. What Tom believed 
he held as matter of faith, out of which no one could shake him. 
Now he held, as clearly as the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church 
(but with much less reason), that the great estates he inherited 
were as inexhaustible as the mines of Potosi. There had been, it is 
true, and he knew it, three successive holders of the property, who 
all spent, every year, more than their yearly income. Further, he 
knew that Lord Crewe had bought in a rent-charge of £500 a year. 
And this letter ought to have made him consider his position very 
carefully ; but it did not. 

' My dear Nephew and Coheir,' hor ladyship wrote,—' It is 
with infinite pain that I hereby inform you that the creditors of my 
late brothers have taken such steps as will result in our estate beim* 



THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 51 

thrown into Chancery, the effect of which cannot but be disastrous 
to us both, though, in the long run, we shall perhaps recover. As 
regards present expenses, we shall have to appoint some trustworthy 
servant as steward of the property till such time as the lawyers have 
done with it and the creditors are satisfied. And you may rest 
assured of my care that your income shall be sufficient for you to 
live at the Manor House, though not in the state which my brothers 
were able to maintain. You will have fewer horses and servants ; 
you will not be able, at present, to bear the charges of a seat in 
Parliament ; but you will continue (I will take care therefor) to 
live on your estates, and in your own house. And, should I remain un- 
happily a childless wife, you will, on my death, succeed to my moiety. 
Therefore, my dear nephew, bid little Dorothy take care that there 
be no waste in the kitchen ; buy no more horses ; make no bets ; 
run no matches ; keep my late brother's cellar for days of company ; 
provide your table chiefly by your gun ; make no debts ; and hope 
continually that the years of lean kine will be but few, and will 
soon pass away. 

4 Your loving Aunt, 

'Dorothy Crewe.' 



Tom read this letter slowly. 

'" Fewer horses !" ' he said. 'Why, I have but half a dozen or 
so as it is. "Fewer servants!" Then who is to keep the poor 
varlets if I send them adrift? "Make no bets!" Why, my lady, 
there you must please to excuse me, for a gentleman must make 
bets. " Run no matches !" Well, not many. What does she mean 
by " lean kine " ?' 

' Her ladyship refers to the dream of Pharaoh,' said Mr. Hilyard. 

' Then I wish her ladyship would talk plain English. After all, 

it will be but a year or two, and then Tony, what the devil 

are you looking so glum about V 

' Chancery,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' means more than a vear or two. 
Lawyers are like that famous vampire-bat, said to exist in Hungary 
which seizes on a creature, and never lets go while there is blood 
left.' 

It is wonderful to relate that Tom never took the least trouble to 
find out what the liabilities were, or how long it would take to pay 
them off. Meanwhile, there was no change in his manner of living, 
s;ive that he bought no more horses, hired no new servants, and 
restrained himself from those things which require a great outlay 
of money. I know not how the money was found for the daily 
charges, but I suppose that Lady Crewe could tell, for the estates 
were really thrown into Chancery, where they remained for six 
years. Mr. Hilyard, I believe, but am not certain, was appointed 
steward. Also I know now that, one after the other, the creditors 
weie mostly bought up by Lord Crewe. 

With wings thus clipped, supposed to be the owner of a great 
estate, of which he could enjoy nothing, Tom could not take the 



53 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

same position in the county as had been enjoyed by his predecessors. 
Yet there was always the generous hospitality of the north, and tha 
great cellar of wine left by Mr. Ferdinando held out even against 
Tom's friends, who were mostly young, and all of them gifted with 
a great appetite and thirst ; and as long familiarity with danger 
makes one cease to believe in it (as a sailor puts forth to meet the 
perils of the seas without a thought upon them), so Tom went on, 
taking no heed for the morrow, as if the broad lands of Bamborough 
were really his own, as they had been Sir William's. Yet, as I 
grew older, and could understand things better, I learned from Mr. 
Hilyard that his own expectancy for the future was gloomy indeed, 
for all of us — for Tom, who might lose the greater part of hi3 
estate ; for myself, who would lose, so to speak, whatever he lost ; 
and for himself, because he would lose employment to his mind, 
and a patron who was generous in his way, though sometimes quick 
•with his tongue, and so might be turned again upon the world to 
seek his fortune at five or six and thirty years of age, when a man 
ought to be settled in the way of life by which he earns bis bread. 

'I doubt,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'whether, when all is done, there 
■will remain for the coheirs enough to give a bare living to his 
1 o lour. All will go to Lord Crewe, who, I hear, is buying up the 
j emaining creditors. We know not what may be the intentions of 
his lordship, but he is growing old, and may die ; or he may intend 
— but, indeed, we know not what he may intend, except that it is 
poor work for a Forster of Bamborough to look to any man for 
patronage and support.' 

Poor work, truly ! even though that man was so near a connec- 
tion as my lord ! 

Tom, then, took no thought for the future, believing that the 
estates would shortly be cleared of all encumbrances, and his inherit- 
ance become all his own. Nay, when letters came from the lawyers, 
written in the language or jargon employed by the members of that 
pi'of ession with intent to darken the judgment and confuse the mind 
of a plain person, my brother tossed them over to Mr. Hilyard, 
bidding him read them if he pleased, but not to vex him by rehears- 
ing their purport, and so, with a whistle to his dogs, off to the sport 
which chiefly occupied his mind. Nor would he hear afterwards 
what the letters conveyed to him, though Mr. Hilyard shook his 
head and groaned, telling me privately that our affairs were going 
from bad to worse. Like master, like man ; he, too, when the 
bottle went round, shook off dull care, and assumed that fool's-cap 
which belongs to all who willingly dwell in a fool's paradise. 

There came the time, however ? when the storm, which had been 
gathering so long, burst upon us in great fury, finding one at least, 
and that the man most concerned, wholly unprepared. 

It was one day in the early autumn of the year 1709, and in the 
afternoon. My brother was sitting at the open window, with a 
packet of flies in his hands (they were made for him by Mr. Hil- 
yard), but half -asleep and nodding, as some Dimes happened to him 



THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 53 

after his dinner and noonday potations of strong ale. He was then 
twenty-seven years of age. Six years had passed since he came 
into his own, which was now, alas ! to be taken from him, though 
he had never really enjoyed more than the shadow and reputation 
of it. Yet they were six years of fatness, with plenty of feasting, 
drinking, hunting, shooting, and fishing, so that one may easily 
understand that Tom looked no longer the gallant and handsome 
lad who received the congratulations of his friends when he reached 
his twenty-first year. His cheeks were fuller, and he had already 
something of a double chin. Yet a comely man still. 

I have always thought it a great happiness that Tom was in nci 
hurry to be married. In this respect he resembled many others of 
his family. His uncles John and Ferdinando, for instance, neve,/ 
married at all, nor hath his brother Jack as yet taken a wife, though 
he is now (at the time I write) far advanced towards forty. Had 
Tom become a father of children, this and later troubles might have 
been more than one could bear. 

Then there rode up to the door the post-boy, mounted on his 
little pony, and blowing his horn, at the noise of which Tom started 
and woke up ; Mr. Hilyard, who held in his hand a book in Latin, 
laid it down and went out, and I put aside my sewing and waited 
for the news. "We were less astonished than most at the arrival of 
a letter, because we were sometimes privileged to read Lady Swin- 
burne's latest London News. Now it may seem incredible, but it is 
nevertheless true, and I have experienced the same thing on the 
occasion of other misfortunes as great, that I felt quite certain 
beforehand, and while waiting for the letter, that it brought bad 
news. 

' Read it, Tony,' said Tom, giving it back. ' It is from her lady- 
ship. Perhaps it is to say that all is now off, and the estate is 
clear.' 

Mr. Hilyard opened the letter, which was a long one, with great 
care, drew a chair to the window, and there read it. 

This most astonishing epistle fell upon us all like a thunderbolt 
in our midst, as one of the Allies' shells at Oudenarde. Consider ; 
for so many years there had been always before our eyes the 
prospect of a time when the estates should be free — in a year or 
two, perhaps, more or less ; what mattered ? Sooner or later Tom 
would have his unencumbered moiety, and, as was reasonable to 
suppose, at my lady's death the whole. 

It was a truly dreadful letter. It informed us, in fact, that there 
was nothing left. Law and the creditors had swallowed all. A 
thing impossible to believe, and yet most true. There was nothing 
left. My aunt, in telling us this dreadful thing, talked obscurely 
about our remaining at the Manor House, with hints about affairs 
of importance not to be undertaken without communication with 
her. I was, for my own part, so bewildered, that I understood but 
half of what she said. 

Now, when Mr. Hilyard read, Tom, who began by paying little 



54 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

heed first, sprang to his feet, and then turned white and then red 
crying : 

' Read that again ! Read that again !' And when the letter 
ended with an exhortation to resignation, Tom sank into his chair, 
crying, 'For Lord's sake, Tony, tell me without her ladyship's 
rigmarole— Death and Furies ! what have I to do with resignation? 
— what it means.' 

' It means, sir,' Mr. Hilyard replied, ' briefly this : The Bam- 
borough estates have been all, by order of the Lord Chancellor, sold 
for the benefit of the creditors. Lord Crewe hath bought the whole ; 
for the sum of £20,000, and the amount due to her ladyship and 
yourself, the lawyers and creditors having been paid, and the rent- 
charges provided for, is not more than £1,020, of which you, who 
take the moiety, will receive £510 exactly.' 

Then there was silence, during which we looked anxiously at 
Tom, whose face was swollen, and so red that I feared he would 
have a fit of some kind. 

' So all is gone,' he said, at length. ' A goodly inheritance, 
indeed ! Five hundred pounds !' 

' Your honour forgets,' replied Mr. Hilyard, ' that you are still the 
heir of Etherston. As to the land of the Bamborough Forsters, 
that seems to have taken unto itself wings. If one cannot trust in 
land, in what shall man place his trust ?' 

' I am the heir of Etherston— that is true. But my father's estate 
can do little more than keep himself and his family. Shall I have 
to go back to him and live upon his bounty ?' To this, being greatly 
moved and beyond himself, he added many strong words and oaths, 
which may be passed over. 

' Not so, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' "With submission, if you go 
back, Miss Dorothy will go with you ; and I must needs go back 
into the world, naked as I came into it at my birth. Therefore, I 
trust this will not happen. As for this house and all these lands, 
they are indeed the property of the Lord Bishop ; but there seems 
a way — nay, her ladyship herself indicates a way. You will remain 
here — as her nephew.' 

' A fine way, truly ! I am to be a beggar — a pensioner — a 
dependent upon my aunt.' 

' Nay ; the eldest son of Mr. Thomas, and the grandson of Sir 
William Forster, must not be called by anyone a beggar, or a pauper, 
or a dependent, even though his aunt, who is wealthy, provide the 
expenses of his establishment. Her ladyship clearly signifies her 
desire that you should continue as if this purchase had not been 
made, and that you should live in the same style as at present, 
which is not, I am aware, the style befitting Mr. Ferdinando's suc- 
cessor, or equal to the splendour of his state : but yet it is the style 
and manner of a gentleman, and equal to that of your honour's 
father ; and she further clearly specifies her intention, if I read her 
aright, that out of the revenues of the estates such a sum shall be 
reserved for your use as may be found necessary.' 



THL CHIEF CREDITOR. 55 

' Yes — but on conditions. 

'With submission, sir, again : on reasonable conditions. She 
desires only that no important step be taken by you without her 
consent. That is to say, and, by way of illustration, when you 
desire to marry, you would signify your intention to her ladyship. 
That is what you would naturally do towards your lamented mother's 
sister.' 

' Tilly vally, Tony, that is not what her ladyship means. You 
know very well what she does mean.' 

' Then, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, apparently without attention to 
this interruption, ' there is also the danger which threatens the 
whole country, and especially the north. Her ladyship, knowing 
your honour's courage, loyalty, and daring, is right in fearing that 
you might be led into some rash enterprise, like the late Sir John 
Fenwick, in which you might lose not only your head but also your 
estates. This danger, sir, I for one, if I may venture to say so, 
have felt especially of late to be very great. Consider, that you 
are acknowledged by all to be by birth and position, as well as by 
abilities, foremost among the Protestant gentlemen of the north.' 

' That may be so, Tony,' said Tom, softening. ' I do not say that 
thou art wrong.' 

' A natural leader of the Cause, and of great daring.' 

' It is true,' said Tom, wagging his head. 

' Round whom the people will rally.' 

' If not,' said Tom, sitting down, ' I should like to know round 
whom they will rally.' 

' Next,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'it i3 very well known that there hath 
been of late a great increase of agitation in the counties and in the 
towns. Private advices reach us from London of the clubs, of the 
enthusiasm for Dr. Sacheverell, and the loyalty even of the mob. 
Her ladyship desires, naturally, that when you take that step, which 
will go far to decide the victory of the Cause she hath at heart 

' It will,' cried Tom. ' It must.' 

' She shall know beforehand, if only — but this I guess — in order 
that you may be enabled to make a fitting appearance in the field. 
A Forster may not be as magnificent as the Duke of Ormond, but 
he must be suitably equipped and followed.' 

' Why,' said Tom, ' if that is all her ladyship means ' 

' What more, sir, may I ask, can she mean ? As your honour's 
aunt, she is anxious for your safety ; as a woman, she reveres the 
head of her branch ; also, as a woman, saving Miss Dorothy's 
presence, having the power of the purse, she desires to keep it. As 
for what she intends, that is to me very certain. She hath been 
married more than ten years, and hath no children ; she is already 
over forty ; her husband is past seventy-five years of age, and will 
leave to his widow all he can, if he does not leave to her all he has ; 
her ladyship's devotion to her own family is well known. To whom 
should she bequeath her wealth, save to your honour ?' 

' True,' said Tom, f it is natural. My lord is very rich.' 



$6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

'You -will therefore become,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'before many 
years, the richest gentleman in the north.' 

1 1 shall then rebuild the castle, and live within its walls,' said 
Tom. 

' You will certainly be able to do this, and to revive the old state 
of your ancestors, Sir John and Sir Claudius.' 

' I shall also restore the ancient Tower of Blanchland, and make 
a noble residence of it.' 

' Sir, the idea is worthy of the great position you will then hold. 

' As for you, Tony, I have made up my mind. You shall take 
Holy Orders and become my chaplain, with two hundred pounds a 
year.' 

' Your honour is indeed generous.' 

' I shall also go into the House. By that time the Prince will 
have his throne. He will reward those who have been faithful to 
him.' 

' An earldom at least,' said Mr. Hilyard. 

' At least,' said Tom, kindling. ' The Earl of Blanchland, eh ? ft 
would be as fine as the Earl of Derwentwater.' 

' Even at present,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' your honour may marry in 
any family you choose, being of so old and honourable a house. But 
then — with Lord Crewe's inheritance and the Sovereign's favour — 
of course you will be sworn of the Privy Council ' 

' Of course,' answered Tom proudly. 

' Earl of Blanchland, of his Majesty's Privy Council ; Knight of 
the Garter — I think, my lord — I mean, your honour — we may say 
Knight of the Garter ' 

' You may,' said Tom, laying his fingers round his leg ; ' you 
may, sir.' 

' Lord Lieutenant and High Sheriff of Northumberland ; Here- 
ditary Grand Warden of the March (an honour only to be asked 
for) ; Governor of the Castle of Bamborough ; Lord of the Manor 
of Etherston ' 

' I give that,' said Tom, ' to my brother Jack. It is not worth 
keeping.' 

' With all these distinctions, is there an heiress or a lady in all 
England but would rejoice at such an alliance ?' 

' Gad !' said Tom, ' you put things as they should be put. Tony, 
your salary as my chaplain shall be four hundred, not two. You 
shall be a king among chaplains ! But when you have the cassock 
and the bands, you will not cease from drinking and singing, will you ?' 

' Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I shall be like unto Friar John des 
Entommeurs. In the gown I shall only drink the deeper.' 

With such persuasion and artful show of hope did Mr. Hilyard 
soothe the disappointment of this dreadful blow, so that poor Tom, 
although without a penny (save his five hundred pounds), and de- 
pendent wholly upon the bounty of my aunt, felt himself in imagina- 
tion exalted to the highest rank, and possessing all those distinctions 
which are most coveted. 



THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 57 

' Write to her ladyship, niy good friend,' he said, with the majesty 
of an Earl in his manner ; ' tell her in suitable terms that I agree 
to her proposals. Bring me the draft of the letter, and I will write 
it in my own hand after I have corrected it. You can tell Jack, 
Dorothy, that I shall give him Etherston when the time comes.' 

Alas ! Jack has got Etherston, and has held it now for fourteen 
years. But what did poor Tom get ? 

Then — the kind brother — he thought upon his sister. 

' What shall I give thee, Dorothy ?' he asked. ' Truly, if it de- 
pended upon me, thou shouldst have the finest husband in the 
world, and the richest dower.' 

So he kissed me on the forehead, and left us. 

' Man,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' is ever allured by the things which are 
of least use to him. Who would be Earl and Knight of the Garter, 
and bear the weight and fardel of greatness ? Who would not 
rather be a plain country gentleman, with an estate in land, a troop 
of friends, and a goodly cellar ? His honour hath lost his whole 
substance. He hath remaining not one acre of land nor one shilling 
of revenue ; yet is he happy, because he will now have continually 
before his eyes the inheritance of Lord Crewe.' 

4 But you think ' 

' Nay, I am sure. I have deceived him in nought, except in this. 
Her ladyship is, it is true, forty years of age, but she may very well 
live as long as her nephew. But to tell him this in his present 
mood would be the same as to kick over the basket of eggs out of 
which this mighty fortune was to be made. I have also hidden 
another thing, which I confess with shame. I am informed that 
Lord Derwentwater will certainly return early in the year. He is 
young and ardent ; he will gather round him, no doubt, all the hot- 
brains and hair-brains of the county. Lady Crewe knows this, 
because she knows all. Who can tell what may happen ? Is she 
not right to ensure that her nephew, if he risk his neck, shall risk 
nothing else ?' 

CHAPTER VH 

BOOM FOR MY LOED. 

It was in the year of grace seventeen hundred and ten that Lord 
Derwentwater, who had been living abroad from childhood, returned 
to his native country. He was then in his twenty-first year, having 
been born on the 28th of June, 1689, being a year younger than the 
Prince, his cousin, whose education he shared, and whose playfellow 
he was. To one of those who welcomed him back — a woman — it 
will always seem as if her life had something of meanness in it before 
he came. Until then, she knew not what was meant by the man- 
ners and airs which are learned only at such Courts as those of 
Versailles and St. James's ; nor did she know before how splendid 
a being is a man who, besides being master of all the manly accom- 



58 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

plishments, as most of the Northumberland gentlemen are, also 
possesses the language of gallantry, the manners of a courtier, and 
the youth and beauty of Apollo. I can but own — why should I be 
ashamed to own it ? — that the admiration which I felt for my lord 
at the very first appearance and beholding of him, only increased 
the of tener I saw him and the more I conversed with him. Sure I 
am that Heaven hath nowhere bestowed upon this generation so. 
goodly and virtuous a nobleman. Yet was he granted to us to 
gladden our hearts and set us an example of benevolence, courtesy, 
majesty, and good breeding' for five short years. Thus are the 
greatest blessings granted to mankind (if I may be permitted so to 
speak of the Heavenly Scheme) with sparing and jealous hands. 

It was by way of the Low Countries that the Earl returned to 
England, because the Long War, although it was drawing to a close, 
was still raging. Indeed, it was but a short while since the famous 
battle of Malplaquet, where the vanquished suffered not half so 
<nuch loss as the victors, and our valiant Prince charged twelve 
times with the French regiment of Household Troops. Lord Der- 
wentwater was accompanied only by his two brothers, Francis and 
Charles, the latter of whom was but a lad of sixteen, and his gentle- 
man, Mr. Welby (afterwards hanged at Liverpool). He was met 
in London by his uncle, Colonel Thomas Eadcliffe, and his cousin, 
Mr. Fenwick of Bywell (a near relation of the unhappy man who 
slew Mr. Ferdinando). As for the Colonel, who lived for the most 
part at Eadcliffe House, in Newcastle, he was a most worthy and 
honourable gentleman, but subject to a strange infirmity. For he 
imagined that he was being constantly pursued by an enemy armed 
with a sword, so that when he walked abroad he constantly looked 
behind him, and when he sat at table he would suddenly spring to 
his feet and lay hand upon his sword ; and at night he would leap 
from his bed, try the locks and bars of his door, and throw open 
the window. For this reason he went to Newcastle by water, a 
method of travelling which gave him the greatest content, because 
on board ship he fancied himself safe except from pirates. It was 
resolved that, though no secret should be made as to the Earl's 
arrival, there should be no stay in London, to avoid the danger of 
his being drawn into some rash design or engagement. For it was 
his friends' anxious desire that while it should be very well under- 
stood that he was the faithful and loyal supporter of the Prince, he 
was to have no hand in any plots, and was not to move until success 
was assured. 

They were joined in London also by Mr. Henry Howard, a Catholic 
priest, and cousin to the Duke of Norfolk (would that all priests 
were like unto this venerable and godly man !). And though they 
rode straight north, they made not so much haste but that news of 
their arrival reached the north before they got as far as York ; and 
it was resolved by many of the gentlemen, especially his cousins, to 
give him welcome at DiLston Hall. As for us, we were doubly his 
cousins, both by our ancestor, Sir John, who married Jane Rad-* 



ROOM FOR MY LORD. 59 

cliff e, widow of Lord Ogle, and his son, Nicolas, who maiiied 
another Jane Radcliffe, heiress of Blanchland. 

' Who should go to welcome him if not I, his cousin and near 
neighbour ?' said Tom. (He was now become quite easy in his 
mind as regards his own circumstances, and secure of the brilliant 
succession with which Mr. Hilyard had inflamed his mind.) ' And, 
if I go, why not you as well, Dorothy ?' 

You may judge of the joy with which I heard these words. But 
ft was a great undertaking, and needed much consideration, which 
we entrusted to Mr. Hilyard. He finally resolved for us that we 
should go, and that we should seize the occasion to spend the whole 
year at Blanchland, where we might, at least, live retired, and at 
small charge, the place being eight or nine miles from any neighbours, 
and in the middle of a wild moor. I think — nay, I am quite sure — 
that Mr. Hilyard's desire that Tom should spend no money was 
greater than his wish to greet the Earl, for, though he complained 
not, it fell to his lot to ask her ladyship for supplies, and to receive 
the rebukes for prodigality with which she sometimes answered his 
letters. 

My heart was light at the prospect of so great a journey and th& 
sight of strange places, to say nothing of giving a welcome to the 
young lord. I cared nothing for the cold wind of February, and 
the driving sleet and snow in which we began our journey. To me, 
though the snow lay in piles about the brambles and the bushes, and 
the wind blew from the north-east, and one's fingers froze, and one's 
feet in the saddle lost all feeling, the journey was delightful. We 
were a great party, having with us a whole troop of pack-horses 
laden with guns, fishing-tackle, clothes, and so forth. There were 
also Tom's dogs and hounds, his second riding-horse, his grooms, his 
own man (who shaved him, dressed his wig, and kept his clothes), 
Mr. Hilyard, and my maid, Jenny Lee. So that we were like a 
small army, and made, in fact, almost as little progress as an army 
in motion. The first night we lay at our own house (but it was 
now Lord Crewe's) at Alnwick ; the second we lay at Rothbury, a- 
pleasant town on the Coquet ; on the third at Capheaton Castle, 
where we were hospitably entertained, though Sir William had 
already gone two days before to Bilston with her ladyship. On the 
fourth we rode into Hexham. 

In this ancient town, which I now saw for the first time, we 
found gathered together a goodly company of gentlemen, assembled 
for the purpose of giving the Earl a hearty welcome home. The 
street was full of them and of their servants. They stood about 
the doors of the inns ; they drank and sang in little companies. A 
group of the better sort were gathered in the open square between 
the church and the old town, where they talked and welcomed new- 
comers. Lord Widdrington, with his brothers, was reported to be 
at Beaufront with Mr. Eriington ; Sir William and Lady Swin- 
burne with half-a-dozen of the Swinburne brothers, the Ladies 
Katharine and Mary Radcliffe, and many other cousins,, were at 



So DOROTH Y FORSTER. 

Dilston Hall. In Hexham there were Shaf toes, Claverings, Chop- 
leys, Gibsons, and many more. Mad Jack Hall was among them, 
shouting and vapouring. High over the heads of the crowd towered 
the great form of Frank Stokoe, six inches taller than any other 
man in Northumberland. He was not only the tallest, but also the 
strongest, man in the county. He could crush pewter pots in his 
hand ; he cocld pull against two horses, lift a couple of hundred- 
weight with his little finger, stop a cart against a runaway horse, 
bend iron bars across his arm, and break pence with his fingers. 
Once he lifted a constable asleep, box and all, and dropped him 
over the wall into a burying-place. He lived at Chesterwood, near 
Haydon Bridge, and not far from Lord Derwentwater's Castle of 
Langley, which lies in ruins these three hundred years, and is like, 
Heaven knows, to continue in that same evil plight for as many 
more. Also there were present certain gentlemen — birds of ill 
omen, Mr. Hilyard called them, always imploring his patron to keep 
aloof from them, hold no communication with them, and not suffer 
himself to be enticed into correspondence with them. These are 
the men who ensnare honest and loyal gentlemen by making them 
combine, without their knowledge, in conspiracies and plots destined 
only to failure. Each premature plot, when detected and put down, 
costs the lives of some of these mischievous men ; but the devil 
speedily raises up others to do his work, lest the wickedness of the 
world should go less. 

Now, as we rode into the crowd, some of the gentlemen shook 
hands with Tom ; and others greeted me with such compliments as 
they knew how to make (they were kindly meant ; but I was soon 
to learn the true language of gallantry) ; and others shouted a 
welcome to lusty Tony (it is a shame that so great a scholar should 
consent to such a name), whose appearance and shining countenance 
promised an evening of merriment. Presently, looking about among 
the throng, I became aware of a person whom I had never before 
*een, in cassock and bands, and the most enormous great wig I had 
ever seen, reminding one of the lines 

' His wig was so bushy, so long, and so fair, 
The best part of man was quite covered with hah ; 
That he looked, as a body may modestly speak it, 
Like a calf with bald face peeping out of a thicket.' 

His eyes were close together, which, I suppose, was the cause of his 
looking shifty and sly — pigs have such eyes ; his nose, like his 
cheeks, was fat ; and his lips were thick and full. Unless his face 
belied him, he was one of those who loved the sacred profession for 
the life of ease and the fat eating which may be procured by the 
fortunate and the swinish. Miserable man ! Yet still he lives and 
still he preaches, his conscience being seared with a hot iron. 
Thank Heaven ! he is not an enemy of myself, but of my brother ; 
therefore, I am not called upon to forgive him. Indeed, it is only 
a Christian's duty to T-on-ard such as him with abhorrence, as one 
abhors the devil and all his works. 



ROOM FOR MY LORD. 61 

He was going about with an appearance of great bustle and 
business, as if everything depended upon himself, whispering to 
one man, holding another earnestly by the button, taking a pinch 
of snuff from another with an air of haste. Presently he advanced 
to us, bowing at every step. 

'Sir,' he said to Tom, ' I venture to present myself to your 
honour. I am the Vicar of Allenhead, your worship's nearest 
neighbour when you honour Blanchland with a visit ; and I venture 
to call myself one of the right party. Sir, I rejoice to find that 
you are here with so many noble gentlemen to welcome my Lord of 
Derwent water. As for me, my motto is, and still will be, " The 
right of the firstborn is his ;" and, if it need more words, '' Take 
away the wicked from before the king." My name, sir, at your 
service, is Robert Patten, Artium Magister, and formerly of Lincoln 
College, Oxford, and— O Lord ! ' 

For he started back as one who has trodden upon an adder at 
least, and with a face suddenly pale with fright or astonishment, I 
know not which. Then I perceived that the cause of his alarm 
was none other than the sight of Mr. Hilyard. He, for his part, 
was looking down upon his reverence from his horse with a face as 
full of disdain and indignation as you can expect from a countenance 
naturally inclined for charity with all men. Mr. Hilyard could 
change his face at will when he wished to personate the sterner 
emotions in acting and make-believe, but, which is a truly wonderful 
thing, when he was in earnest, and actually felt those passions of 
scorn or wrath, his face failed to convey them. 

' If,' he said presently, ' the Prince's cause hath pleased Bob 
Patten, we have got a brave recruit indeed, and are finely sped.' 

At which the other plucked up courage, and, setting his band 
straight, replied : 

' I know not, Mr. Hilyard, what may be your present business in 
the north. I pray it be hone&t. Nay, sir,' shrinking and putting 
up his hand, for Mr. Hilyard made as if he would strike at him 
with his whip — ' nay, sir, remember the cloth ! Besides, I meant 
no harm. Respect the cloth, I pray you, sir ! Indeed, I am sure 
from your company that it must be honest at least, and I hope 
respectable. Wherefore, all that passed in Oxford may be forgiven.' 

'Forgiven !' cried Mr. Hilyard, in a great heat, 'how dare you 
talk of forgiving ? As for all that passed at Oxford, proclaim it 
aloud an you will ; I have no call to be ashamed of it. But if you 
speak of forgiving, by the Lord I shall forge* your sacred profes- 
sion, and remember only what you were !' 

' Gentlemen,' said Tom, speaking with authority, ' let us have no 
quarrels to-day. Command me, Mr. Patten, if I can serve you in 
any way. Meanwhile, there will be a bowl of punch towards nine, 
if your cloth permits.' 

' Oh, sir !' replied Mr. Patten, bowing, and spreading his hands. 
Ah ! crocodile ! as if thy cloth was ever guard against punch, or 
tny other temptation! 



6i DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Now that evening was spent in festivity, with singing and drink 
ing, at which none of the gentlemen remained sober except Mr. 
Hilyard, who helped to carry his patron to bed, and did him the 
kindly office of loosening his cravat, adjusting his pillows, and 
pulling off his shoes. I know not if the gentlemen of the north be 
more prone to drink than those of the south, perhaps not ; in 
either case there was the excuse for these hearty topers that on 
the next day they were to welcome home the noblest man of them 
all. And as for Mr. Patten, he slept where he fell. As for me, I 
went to bed betimes, but not to sleep, for the streets were full of 
men who went up and down— they were the servants and grooms, 
and were as loyal and as tipsy as their masters. And when I f e 11 
asleep at last, it was to unquiet dreams, in which I was haunted by 
hoarse voices singing loyal songs. 

The morning of the day when I was first to see Lord Derwent- 
water broke cold and rainy. But as the day advanced the clouds 
blew over, and we had that rare thing in February, a bright, cloud- 
less, and sunny day. What mattered a cold and a sharp wind ? 
Northumberland, the brave old county, would show at her best, 
despite the winter season. Often I think that winter hath charms 
of its own, especially in the woods, though the poets have resolved 
on singing the praise of spring and summer. It is true that there 
are no flowers and few birds ; yet when the dead leaves hang, that 
is, where the trees stand thick, there are all kinds of pleasant 
colours. One who had travelled much in America once assured 
Mr. Hilyard that in the autumn and early winter the forests are all 
ablaze with crimson, yellow, and red leaves of the maple tree (from 
which also he pretends that they make sugar, but one may not 
believe all travellers' tales). There are places in Northumberland, 
and especially in the hanging woods beside the Tyne, where this 
beauty of winter leaves may also be observed. Methinks it is also 
a beautiful thing to watch the snow upon the branches, each one 
seeming like a stick of ice, and all together showing like the finest 
lace of Valenciennes. The contemplation of things beautiful fills 
the heart with joy, and raises the mind to heaven ; but we simple 
women are slow and imperfect of speech ; it needs such a poet as 
Milton (whom most of all I love, now that youth and joy are past) 
to put into words the meaning of our thoughts. However, I was 
glad and thankful that such a day had been vouchsafed for my 
lord's return, nothing doubting but that his heart, too, would be 
uplifted on seeing his own woods and towers lying in the light of 
such a sun and such a clear blue sky. 

We observed no order or time in setting forth. Some of the 
younger gentlemen mounted after breakfast and rode off along the 
road to Newcastle, intending to meet my lord's party early ; others 
went off leisurely, proposing to, halt at Dilston, two miles or so 
from Hexham. We, for our part, wnited till after dinner, judging 
that the Earl would not arrive before three o'clock at earliest. 



ROOM FOR MY LORD. 63 

Mr. Patten, ■whom I disliked from the first, perhaps because Mr. 
Hilyard regarded him with so much aversion, rode with us. That 
is to say, he rode beside Mr. Hilyard and behind us, but as if he 
belonged to our party. This is the way with those who desire to 
increase their own importance ; they pretend to friendship with 
one man in order to obtain the patronage of another. By riding 
with Mr. Forster, the man Patten gave himself an excuse for 
welcoming a nobleman with whom he had no manner of concern or 
business. 

When we had ridden past the bridge at Dilston, where there was 
a great concourse of people waiting, we left Mr. Patten behind, but 
we were joined by old Mr. Errington, of Beaufront, a wise and 
prudent gentleman, whose counsels ought to have guided the party 
five years later, but he was overruled. We naturally talked of the 
young Earl. 

' I am very sure, Tom,' said Mr. Errington, ' that we have in my 
lord a pillar of strength. He will be to the loyal gentlemen of the 
north as much as the Duke of Argyll to the Whigs of Scotland. I 
have it on the best authority that, although brought up in France, 
he is an Englishman ; though a Catholic, like myself, he is as 
zealous for liberty as you can be ; an adherent of the Prince, yet 
one who desires not violence, but rather the return of the nation to 
common-sense and loyalty ; one who will conciliate and bind all of 
us together, so that we shall become a solid party, and in the end 
triumph even in the House of Commons.' 

This, in the year 1710, was the earnest prayer of all moderate 
men and those who had much to lose. 

' With submission, sir, ' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I would ask what 
advices your honour hath received respecting the temper of London ?' 

' Nothing, Mr. Hilyard, but what is good. The Queen is well 
disposed towards her brother ; the Tories are confident ; there is 
talk of a peace ; the Whigs and Dissenters are terrified. But our 
time may not come yet.' 

' The will of London,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' is the will of the nation.' 

' And, if fight we must,' Tom cried, ' the Earl can raise a thousand 
non. 

' We shall not fight,' said Mr. Errington. ' We will have a 
bloodless revolution, such a Restoration as that of King Charles JL, 
when he rode from Dover to London through a lane of rejoicing 
faces. I know not, Mr. Hilyard, that London is so powerful as 
you would have us believe. But already the country is with us, 
and the clergy, as in duty bound. And the most that either party 
can say of the towns is that they are divided.' 

A bloodless Restoration ! It was, as I said, the dream of the 
better sort. But the Catholics forgot the terror of the Smithfield 
fires, which the people will never forget, from generation to genera- 
tion, so long as England remains a country. The martyrs have 
made it impossible for a Papist ever again to rule over us. 

' As .for us.' said Mr. Errington, ' we know very well, and do not 



64 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

disguise from ourselves, that in the present temper of the people 
the Prince, when he returns, must choose his Ministers and advisers, 
not from ourselves, but from his Protestant supporters. Lord 
Derwentwater may remain his Sovereign's private friend, but can 
never become a member of his Government. It is to you, Tom, 
and such as you, that the King must turn.' 

' It is what I am always telling Mr. Forster,' said Mr. Hilyard. 

Mr. Forster replied, with a blush of satisfaction and the gravity 
which the subject demanded, that he was very much of Mr. Erring- 
ton's opinion that, whether he himself should be found competent 
to become a Minister or not, a Protestant country must have a 
Protestant Ministry, and that, begging Mr. Errington's pardon, 
when the priest walks in, the King and his people fall out. 

So we rode along slowly, for the way is none of the best, in such 
discourse, until about three o'clock or so, and a mile or two beyond 
Dilston, we heard a great shouting ; and pricking our horses, we 
presently came upon a party of those who had ridden on before. 
They were now drawn up in a double line, and beyond this, his hat 
in his hand, my lord himself rode in advance of his party to meet 
his friends. No prince or sovereign in Europe but would have 
been moved and gratified by so noble a reception as the young 
nobleman received from the gentlemen who had thus ridden forth 
to meet him. 

The path at this place is but a beaten track over the turf and 
level ground south of the river, which is here broad and shallow, 
with islets and long tongues of sand ; there was an old angler in 
midstream, with rod and fly, careless (or perhaps he was deaf) of 
what this great shouting might mean, which he seemed not to 
hear. The ground is flat and covered with a rough coarse grass ; 
southward rise the gentle hills, clothed with the woods which 
everywhere, except on the moors and the Cheviots, enrich the land- 
skip of Northumberland, and form its boast. It was on this field 
that we received my lord. 

It is nearly five-and-twenty years ago. If Lord Derwentwater 
were living, he would now be a man of forty-six, still in the full 
force and vigour of his manhood. Would he still remember (but 
he must) that afternoon in February, when, with his hat off, and 
the setting sun full in his face, making it shine like the face of 
Moses upon the mountain, he rode through that lane of gentlemen ? 
As for myself, I saw more than I expected in my dreams. He waa 
always the Prince of a fairy story ; such as was the Childy Wynd, 
who transformed the loathly Worm of Spindleston, so was he ; or 
as King Arthur sitting under Dunstanburgh, ever young and glorious, 
so was he. But the Prince of my dreams was a plain country 
gentlemen, and before me was a gentleman of a kind I had never 
imagined, more courtly, more handsome, more splendid. There are 
some men who are called handsome by reason of a certain uniformity 
of feature (such as may be carved with a chisel out of a piece of 
Stone) ; there are many who for a single good feature, a straight 



ROOM FOR MY LORD. 65 

nose, the pleasing curve of a mouth, an agreeable smile, a bright 
eye, may be very justly called pretty fellows. But all alike were 
agreed in calling Lord Derwentwater the handsomest of men. 
There are also some men, but very few, to whom has been given 
that remarkable gift of commanding admiration, of compelling 
affection, and establishing firm confidence at the very first aspect 
and appearance of them. Such was my lord. For my own part, I 
know of no other man of all those who have lived in this eighteenth 
century, whose face is so well remembered even twenty years and 
more after his death. Why, there is not a woman, over thirty, 
within twenty miles of Dilston or Hexham, who, at the mere men- 
tion of his name or recollection of his face, doth not instantly fetch 
a sigh and drop a tear in memory of the handsome lord. 

For those who never had the fortune to see him in the flesh, it is 
necessary to state that his face was full, with features well propor- 
tioned ; his nose long and finely cut ; his eyes grey of colour, and 
large (the large eye, they say, betokens the generous heart) ; I have 
myself seen those eyes so full of love, pity, and tenderness, that it 
makes the memory of them fill my own with tears. His forehead 
was high and square — Mr. Hilyard says that men with such fore- 
heads, when they are born in humble circumstances, take to study, 
and become philosophers, theologians, and great scholars, instancing 
his own forehead as an example, which is broad indeed, but lacking 
the dignity which sat upon the brow of the young Earl. His chin 
was round and large — a small chin, or a chin which falls back, says 
Mr. Hilyard, is a sign of weakness and irresolution ; a deserter, 
coward, runaway, or informer should be painted with a retreating 
chin (Mr. Patten's chin was such, which proves the statement). 
As for my lord's lips, they were firm and well set, yet of the kind 
which betray passion and agitation of the mind, so that those who 
knew him well could at all times read in the movements of his lips 
the emotions of his soul. Every feature in the face, according to 
Mr. Hilyard, corresponds to some virtue or defect in the soul. 
Thus, if one have thick lips, thrust forward, like Mr. Patten, one 
may be expected to be like him, a self-seeker, chatterer, mischief- 
maker, and betrayer of honest folk. My lord's complexion was fair, 
and, before his hair was shaved, his head had been adorned with 
clusters of brown curls. 

In short, the countenance of Lord Derwentwater indicated a sou\ 
full of dignity, benevolence, and sweetness. So it looked to me the 
first time that ever I looked upon it ; so it proved to be so long aa 
I knew it ; so it seemed to me the last time — oh, most sad and 
sorrowful time ! — that I saw it. There never was any human face 
m which the great virtues of humanity and kindness were more 
brightly illustrated than in the face of this young gentleman. 

Behind the Earl rode his two brothers, Francis and Charles. The 
former was of smaller stature than the elder brother, and held his 
head down as if in thought ; but it wag his habit to go thus looking 
ttpoa the ground. Whdn he lifted bis eyes one saw that they weie 

5 



66 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

strangely sad, and on his face there rested always a cloud, for which, ., 
there was no reason ?ave that he was, like his uncle, of a melancholic " 
temperament from his youth upwards ; and his eyes had always a 
look in them as of one who expects misfortune. "Witches say that 
to men with such a look in their eyes misfortune comes ; it is said 
that the look of impending misfortune may be read in the eyes of 
all the Stuarts—the Royal House which the Fates, or rather the 
Furies, have persecuted with strange malevolence. Can it be that 
the future of a man may be read in his eyes, as in the palm of his 
hand ? I know not ; but Jenny Lee, my maid, the little gipsy 
witch, dropped strange prophetic hints about these young men, for 
which I rebuked her, even before she read their hands. As for 
Charles, the youngest of the three, he was as yet but a lad of 
sixteen, well-grown and comely ; wore his own brown hair, and was 
as handsome as his eldest brother, yet in a different way. Those 
who can read fate in the eyes may have read his sorrows there, but 
"lo the rest of us they were brave and merry eyes, belonging to a 
young man who neither looked for evil nor feared it, and certainly 
never anticipated it ; a brave, impetuous creature, as full of fancies 
and whims as any girl, as hot-headed as a Highlander ; no lover of 
books or reading, yet a lad who had a great deal of knowledge, and 
forgot nothing. As he read so little, one must needs conjecture 
that he picked up his knowledge as the birds pick up their crumbs, 
bit by bit from conversation. Thus, though no scholar, he began 
very soon to be curious about the Roman remains, ancient ruins, 
and the antiquities of the county, so that he must needs ride over 
to Chollerf ord with Mr. Hilyard to see the old bridge and the wall, 
and discourse with him on moat and tower, and the uses of the 
wall, as if he had been a great student. 

The mud and dust of travel had stained their clothes, but still the 
three brothers were much more richly dressed than our plain gentle- 
men, who for the most part wore plain drab or plush coats, with 
silver buttons, their linen not always of the freshest, their ruffleb 
generally torn, and their wigs undressed. But then there is not, 
much money among these younger sons, so that these things go un- 
regarded. Nevertheless, I saw more than one looking with envy on 
the gold-laced hats and the embroidered scarfs of the Earl and his 
brothers. 

Well, there was, to be sure, a great shouting as my lord rode 
slowly through this lane, shaking hands with every man in turn. 
He knew the names and families, though not the faces, of all, and 
could give each a kindly speech, with his Christian name, as if he 
had been an old friend separated only by a month or two. Presently 
it came to our turn, and he bowed very low and kissed my hand, 
saying a pretty thing about the good omen of being welcomed by 
the beautiful Dorothy Forster, and that if she would extend her 
friendship to him he should indeed be happy. 

'I fear, my lord,' I said, being confused with so much com- 
plimsnt, ' that you take me for my aunt, Lady Crews.' 



ROOM FOR MY LORD, (ft 

'Nay,' he said, 'I take you for no other than yourself ; although 
I know, believe me, of that elder Dorothy, once the flame of my ; 
father.' 

And then more compliments, which maybe omitted, because they 
were framed in pure kindness, and intended to please a girl who 
certainly never had many pretty things said to her before, though 
she knew very well that many gentlemen, she thought to please her 
brother, called her the beautiful Dorothy. 

My lord had been from infancy at the Court of St. Germain, 
where, although there were many English gentlemen and their sons. 
French was commonly talked. He had also had French servants 
and valets, and lived among a people talking nothing but their own 
language. It is not, therefore, wonderful that he not only talked 
French as well as English, but also spoke his own language with a 
slight foreign accent. This very soon wore off (changing into the 
Northumberland bun - ), together with a certain shyness which 
marked him during the early days when he knew nothing of his 
friends except by name, and f ound them, as he afterwards confessed 
to me, different, indeed, from his expectations ; that is to say, less 
polished in their manners, and more loyal in their friendships. 
Could a gentleman have higher praise ? And is not loyalty better 
than a fine manner, however well we are pleased with it ? 

' And this,' said my lord, ' I dare swear, is my cousin, Tom Forster 
of Bamborough.' 

' No other, my lord,' cried Tom heartily, 'and right gh d to oee 
you home again.' 

Presently all rode back together, the younger men still shouting, 
and the elders riding soberly behind the Eari, I having the honour 
of riding on his right hand, and Mr. Errington on his left, while 
Tom rode with Frank and Charles Radcliffe. It was wonderful to_ 
observe how my lord knew all of them, and their private affairs and 
estates, and their position in the county. Indeed, by his father's 
orders — his mother caring nothing about such matters — he had been 
instructed most carefully in the history of Northumberland families. 
It was an amiable and even a prince-like quality in him, as it had 
been in his grandfather, Charles II., never to forget the faces of 
those whom he met. I suppose that, had he chosen to exercise the 
power, he might also, like his royal cousin, and by right of descent, 
have touched for the king's evil. Certainly the disloyal usurper, 
the Duke of Monmouth, did so. „ 

It was now nearly four o'clock, and the short February day was 
drawing to a close. But the people who had come so far were not 
tired of waiting, and we found them all upon the bridge ready to 
shout their honest greeting. An honest and hearty crowd. Among' 
them were not only some of the Earl's cousins — there was never a'; 
Radcliffe without a cloud of cousins — and Lord Widdrington, with 
hjs brothers and others of the company from Hexham, but also the 
lienants and farmers, and a great company of miners, rough and 
rude fellows, with bristly beards and shaggy coats, who had trudged' 



68 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

across the moor from Allendale. They were gathered together on 
the bridge, with pipers and a drum. When the procession came in 
sight, you may fancy what a noise, with the music and the shouting, 
was raised, and what a waving and throwing up of hats, and how 
the younger men in their joy, after the manner of young men, did 
beat and belabour one another. The Earl stopped and looked about 
him. These hundreds were assembled to give him welcome home. 
It is such a sight as brings the tears into a young man's eyes ; it 
was the first time, perhaps, that he understood his own power ; the 
visible proof of it dazzled and moved him — remember this, I pray 
you. Now, had he been brought up among all these people, he 
would have been familiar with his greatness from the beginning, 
and so might have grown hardened in heart, as happens to many 
who come to their estates in boyhood. This was not his case ; and 
he was ever full of compassion for those who were his tenants, his 
dependents, and his servants. When the end came he spared them ; 
he would not lead them out to the destruction which he wrought for 
himself, and from a mistaken sense of honour, though with a heavy 
heart. I say, at the sight of these rude and hearty people the tears 
came into the young Earl's eyes and fell down his cheeks. I, who 
was nearest to him, saw them, and treasured the memory of them 
in my heart. 

These rude miners, these sturdy farmers, these rough fellows, 
with their strange speech unfamiliar to him, were his own people, 
not his serfs and slaves. They were bound to him by no cruel 
laws of service, as the wretched people of France ; yet, at his 
bidding, they would rise to a man and follow him. The Radcliffes 
were at no time tyrants and oppressors of the poor. From father 
to son they were always a kindly race, who dealt generously with 
the people, and reaped their reward in the affection and the loyalty 
of their attendants and dependents. Perhaps Lord Derwentwater, 
as he gazed upon the sea of faces, remembered that he might some 
day bid them take pike and firelock and follow him. I, for one, 
am ashamed to say that this was in my thoughts ; and so, I am 
sure, it was in the thoughts of others in the company, who looked 
on the Earl as nothing but the possible leader of so many hundred 
men, and the owner of vast wealth, which was to be at the service 
of the Cause. 

Then we rode across the bridge, and so np the steep lane which 
leads to the great avenue of Dilston Hall, and, beyond the avenue, 
the bridge across the Devilstone, its water, then foaming white, 
rushing down the dark and narrow channel between rugged rocks 
covered with green moss and (but not in March) with climbing 
plants, and arched over with trees, such as larch, alder, birch, and 
rowan. Behind us tramped and ran the crowd, all shouting together, 
with such a tumult as had not been seen since last the Scottish 
marauders attacked the town of Hexham ; and that was long enough 
ago, and clean forgotten. 

At the doors of the castle the Earl's nearest relations stood ready 



ROOM FOR MY LORD. 69 

to receive him. The first to greet him were his aunts, the Ladies 
Katherine and Mary Radcliffe, the sisters of the late Earl. They 
were not yet old, as Northumberland counts age, but certainly 
stricken in years, and perhaps neither of them under fifty. Both 
were dressed alike, and wore simple black silk frocks, with plain 
satin petticoats, high stomachers, and a great quantity of lace on 
their sleeves ; also they had on long white kid gloves, and their hair 
was carefully dressed in high commodes, on the top of which was 
more lace, which gave them a nun-like appearance. Everybody 
knows that they hesitated all their lives whether or no to enter a 
convent, but in deference to their spiritual adviser remained without 
those gloomy walls, and yet practised, besides the usual Christian 
virtues, as to which many ladies of lower rank will not yield to 
them, the rules of some strict sisterhood, in virtue of which they 
rose early, and even in the night, to pray in the chapel, fasted very 
frequently, and went always in terror whether, by taking an egg on 
a Friday, or sugar to their chocolate, or cheese in Lent, they were 
not endangering their precious souls. I laugh not at them, because 
they lived up to the light of their consciences, and according to 
the laws laid down by their confessor. Yet I am happy in having 
had the plain Rule of Life laid down for me by my Prayer Book, 
the late Lord Bishop of Durham, and, in these recent years, by Mr. 
Hilyard. I need no confessor, and my conscience is at peace within 
me, whatever I eat or drink, thereby imitating the example of St. 
Paul. However, these were great ladies, who thought much of the 
example they were setting to other women ; they were proud and 
stately in their bearing, yet kind of heart ; in appearance they were 
so much alike that at first one did not distinguish them. Lady 
Katherine was the elder, and she was perhaps more lined and crossed 
in the face than her sister. 

A pretty sight it was to see these two ladies trembling when their 
nephews approached, looking from one to the other of the three 
gallant young men who stood before them, and turning at length to 
the tallest and bravest of the three, who stepped forward and bent 
his knee, kissing their hands, and then kissing their cheeks. 

'James,' cried Lady Ivatherine, 'you are like my father more 
than your own.' 

' Nay, sister,' said Mary, ' he is also like our deceased brother. 
Nephew, you are welcome home. Stay with your own people ; a 
Radcliffe is best in Northumberland ; stay among us, and marry a 
North Country girl. And these are Frank and Charles. My dears, 
you are also very welcome. Remember, we are English here, not 
French.' 

So they, too, saluted their aunts, and then Lady Swinburne fol- 
lowed, and after her Sir William, who, as he bade his cousin welcome 
to his own, loudly expressed the hope that nothing would be at- 
tempted by the Earl or his friends which would endanger so noble 
a head or so great an estate, adding that he knew there were many 
about who would endeavour to make his lordship a stalking-horse. ; 



70 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

that he was young as yet, and inexperienced ; and that he com« 
mended him to follow the counsels of his father's old friend, Mr, 
Errington. 

To this Lord Widdrington responded with a loud ' Amen ' and a 
profane oath, saying that as for danger, if all who were in the same 
boat would only pull together, and with a will, there would be no 
danger. 

So, ono after the other, all had been presented to the Earl, and 
we were beginning to wonder what would come next, when we saw 
the Reverend Mr. Patten stepping forward with an air of great 
importance. He bowed very low, and said that he had the honour 
to represent the Protestant Church of England and the clergy of 
Northumberland. (This shows the pushing, lying nature of the 
man, who had been in the Vicarage but a few months, and was un- 
known to the clergy, except that he was once curate at Penrith.) 
In their name he bade his lordship welcome. Speaking as a High 
Churchman and Tory, he said that he, in common with most, desired 
nothing so much as to be delivered of the godless ; meaning, I sup- 
pose, the Whigs. And that, as for those who wish to transfer the 
succession to the House of Hanover, he could say, from his con- 
science : 

' Confounded be these rebels all 
That to usurpers bow, 
And make what Gods and Kings they please, 
And worship them below.' 

He said a good deal more — being applauded by some and regarded 
by others as an impertinent intruder. I was pleased to contrast 
this officiousness with the modesty of Mr. Hilyard, who stood with- 
out, not presuming to be presented to my lord, or to address him ; 
yet, if he had spoken, he would certainly have delivered a very fine 
discourse, full of Latin quotations and reference to ancient authors. 

'I thank you, sir,' said my lord coldly, when this person had 
quite finished ; ' but for this evening, indeed, we will have nothing 
of politics or the godless, or of Whigs and Tories.' 

This he said partly to rebuke the impertinent zeal of Mr. Patten, 
and partly to silence certain noisy gentlemen, including the noto- 
rious Dick Gascoigne and Jack Hall, who were loudly boasting of 
what would happen now that his lordship was at home. One may 
truly say that there was hardly a moment from the time of the 
Earl's return when he was allowed to rest in peace, from the day he 
'returned to the day when he left his castle for the last time ; their 
intention being always to keep before his lordship, and never suffer 
him to forget, that he was considered the head and chief of the 
Prince's adherents in the north, and that his approval was taken 
for granted, -whatever was hatched. Those who were for open 
rebellion reckoned that he would join the first rising, whenever and 
wherever that was attempted, without hesitation ; as for those who 
were for patience and making the party strong, they knew that 



ROOM FOR MY LORD. 71 

they could depend upon him. In reality, however, it was perfectly 
well understood that the Earl desired above all things, and was 
desired by the leading men of the party, to keep himself retired 
and apart from politics until the time came when, like an important 
piece in the game of chess, he could move with the best effect. 

It would have been more consonant with his ambition had he 
been born a mere private gentleman, able to live out his days in 
peace, and in the exercise of good works. But then, as Mr. Hilyard 
truly said, it is not every great man who is suffered by his friends, 
like Diocletian, after making Rome the metropolis of the whole 
world, by a voluntary exile to retire himself from it, and to end his 
days in his own secluded villa, a gardener and a private gentleman 
in Dalmatia ; or like Scipio, to build his house in the midst of a 
wood. Lord Derwentwater would have imitated this great Roman 
had it been permitted. It is, however, the misfortune of the great 
that the grandeur and eminence of their state will not permit them 
+0 taste for long the felicities of a private life. 

'An earl's coronet in unquiet times,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'is like 
unto a king's crown. Few of them are so soft lined but they sit 
heavy on the wearer's brow.' 

When my lord and his brothers retired to change their travelling- 
dress, Colonel Radcliffe invited the whole company to a supper, or 
banquet, which would be shortly served in the great hall. Thia 
was, of course, expected. Presently the brothers returned, dressed 
in a fashion suitable to their rank. The Earl had now a peach- 
coloured satin coat, lined with white, a flowered silk waistcoat, a 
crimson scarf, white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes with 
diamond buckles. He gave his hand to his aunt, Lady Katharine^ 
Lord Widdrington followed with Lady Mary, Francis Radcliffe with 
Lady Swinburne, Charles with Madam Errington, and Sir William 
with myself, and the rest after us in due order and such precedence 
as their age and rank allowed. 

I think there never was a more joyful banquet than this ; perhaps 
the cooks were not equal to those of Paris, but I am sure that by 
the guests nothing better could have been desired or expected. Of 
ladies there were only the five I have named. I was pleased to 
observe at the bottom of the table Mr. Hilyard, who was proposing 
to retire, as, not being a gentleman of the county or by birth, he 
was right in doing ; but Colonel Radcliffe, who knew him well, in- 
sisted on his coming in, and placed him at the table beside himself. 

It was Mr. Errington who asked the gentlemen to drink a bumper 
to the health of his lordship. He reminded those present who were 
of his own age that it was already twenty years since a Radcliffe 
had lived in Dilston Hall, and more than that length of time since 
so large a company had met together under its roof. He then spoke 
of the young Earl's education, and averred his belief that, though 
brought up in France, he had remained an Englishman at heart, 
and had brought from that country nothing but the politeness of 
its nobles and the gallantry of its people — qualities, he said, which, 



7 a DOROTHY FORSTER. 

added to the courage ot the English bulldog and his own generona 
nature as a true Radcliffe, could not but command the affections 
and respect of all. He would have said more, but the gentlemen 
would listen no longer, and, springing to their feet, drained their 
glasses, and shouted so that it did your heart good to hear them. 
I am quite sure there was never a hypocrite or pretender among 
them all (save Mr. Patten), so hearty and so unfeigned was their 
joy to receive this comely and gallant gentleman among them. 

' Gentlemen,' said his lordship, when they suffered him at length 
to speak, and when his voice returned to him, for he was choked 
almost with the natural emotion which was caused by so much 
heartiness — ' Gentlemen, I know not how to thank you sufficiently ; 
indeed, I have no words strong enough for my thanks. I am an 
untried stranger, and you treat me as a proved friend. Yet we are 
kith and kin ; we are cousins all ; our ancestors stood shoulder to 
shoulder in many a border fight ; so let us always stand together. 
And as for what my cousin, Sir William, said just now, it is truly 
the wish of the Prince that no rash or ill-considered enterprise be 
taken in hand.' 

Then he sat down, saying no more, for he was a man of few 
words. And, while the gentlemen shouted again, the ladies left the 
board, and went away to talk by themselves about his lordship and 
his two brothers. 

Meantime, outside, the common sort, unmindful of the cold, 
were regaling themselves in their own way, having a barrel or two 
of strong ale broached, and a great fire, where an ox was roasting 
whole, the very smell of the beef being a banquet to many poor 
souls who seldom taste flesh, unless it be the flesh of swine, and 
that in great lumps of fat, which they sometimes eat with bread 
and sometimes soak in hot milk, Providence having bestowed upon 
this class of people stomachs stronger than those of gentlefolk. 

' In all times,' saith Mr. Hilyard, ' roast-beef has been in great 
scarcity, insomuch that in Homer the gods are represented as pleased 
by the fragrance or perfume of the roasting meat. And, if the very 
gods, how much more the common people ! A morsel of bread 
dipped in oil, and a fig or a bunch of grapes, made their only meal 
for the day. As for swine's flesh, that they never so much as 
tasted. When the Crusaders occupied the Holy Land (where they 
founded the Latin Kingdom, which they thought would last for 
ever), leprosy broke out among them, which they attributed to the 
eating of pork. But I know not if that was indeed the case.' 

Certainly, to a Northumbrian nose, there is no smell more delicious 
than that of a piece of roasting beef, and these good fellows were 
sitting patiently about the fire until the ox should be cooked through. 
Some there were, it is true, who, miscalculating their strength of 
head, took so many pulls at Black Jack tiiat they rolled over, and 
had to be carried into the kitchen and laid on the floor, so that they 
went supperless to bed. This was a pity, because his lordship did 



ROOM FOR MY LORD. 73 

not give a roasted ox every day in the year, and to lose your share 
iu a great feast is a dreadful thing for a poor man, and one thrown 
in his teeth all his life afterwards. 

When Lord Derwentwater left his guests, which was early, be- 
cause he never loved deep potations, he went outside to speak with 
his humble friends round the bonfire. They were at the moment 
engaged upon the beef, which was good, but underdone, and in their 
best and most cheerful mood. He went among them shaking them 
by the hand, asking their names, kissing the young women, promis- 
ing to call at their houses and farms, bidding the lads bustle about 
with the beer, promising to help them if be could be of any help, 
laughing at himself for understanding their speech slowly, and all 
with so hearty and easy a grace as to make the poor folk feel that 
truly a friend had come to them at last across the seas. 

The housekeeper, good Mrs. Busby, who had waited for him day 
and night for twenty years, found beds for the ladies and for some 
of the gentlemen. But most of them slept where they fell, and in 
the morning, by dint of cold water poured upon the head, and small- 
beer within, recovered their faculties before they rode away. 

Before I went up the great staircase to bed, I looked into the 
hall. It was already very late — nearly eleven. The gentlemen 
were drinking still, and some of them were smoking pipes of 
tobacco, while some were very red in the face, and some had fallen 
asleep — their heads hanging downwards and quite helpless and sad 
to see, or else lolling back upon the chair with open mouth like an 
idiot, or lying on the table upon their arms. Strong drink had 
stolen away their brains, and for twelve hours they would be sense- 
less. Among those who slept in their chairs was none other than 
his reverence, Mr. Robert Patten. A shameful spectacle! His 
great mouth was wide open, his head lying back, and some wag with 
a burnt cork had marked his upper lip and cheeks with the black 
moustachios and ferocious whiskers borne — I am told — by certain 
soldiers of a fierce and warlike nation called Heyducs. Why, it is 
a venial thing for a layman, one who has, perhaps, ridden and hunted 
for a whole day, to be overcome with thirst and potency of drink ; 
but for a clergyman, one whose thoughts should be set upon holy 
things and the mysteries of the Christian scheme — faugh ! the sight 
is sorrowful indeed. One may remember many evil things in the 
life of Mr. Patten, but few more disgraceful than his tipsy sense- 
lessness at Lord Derwentwater's return. 

How different was Mr. Antony Hilyard! He was not drunk, 
nor, apparently, touched with wine. But his jolly red face was 
beaming with smiles. On one side of him sat Colonel Radcliffe, 
who had forgotten his invisible enemy, and was now laughing and 
listening ; on the other side was Charles Radcliffe, not drinking, 
but looking curiously around him, and especially at the singer, as, 
with glorified face, bright eyes, and brandished glass, as if life was 
to him a dream of pure happiness without a care or a fear, he sang 



74 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

merrily — men are like children, tickled with a straw, but yet it is a 
catching air — his famous song : 

' I am a jolly toper, I am a ragged Soph, 
Known by the pimples on my face with talcing bumpers off ; 
And a-toping we will go — we will go — we will go — 
And a-toping we will go.' 



CHAPTER VIII. 

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 

So the next day to Blanchland, a ride of nine miles across a moor 
as wild as any in England ; and Tom glum, partly on account of 
last night's wine and partly at prospect of a whole year spent in 
this secluded spot. 

'Consider, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'the advantages of the plan. 
First, it will be impossible to spend any money ' 

Here Tom flung into a rage, and swore that it was shameful for 
the owner of Bamborough to want for a little money. 

'Next,' continued the judicious steward, 'your honour will have 
most excellent shooting and fishing ; and as for society ' 

' I know all your songs,' said Tom. ' Can you not write some 
more ?' 

' As for society, there are my lord and his brothers within an 
easy ride. Your honour doth very well understand that it may be 
both a singular advantage for yourself to enjoy the friendship of a 
nobleman who hath the Prinee's private ear, and to his lordship to 
have the benefit of your experience and advice in the conduct of 
his private affairs. As for that, I conceive it nothing short of a 
Providential interposition that, at the moment when he should 
arrive, inexperienced and raw, he should find in your honour a wiso 
adviser.' 

' That is true, Tony,' said Tom, looking more cheerful. ' Dilston 
Hall is not ten miles from Blanchland, and the wine is good. We 
will teach him how to drink it. These Frenchmen cannot drink.' 

' And to mix whisky punch. In France they do not even know 
the liquor.' 

'Poor devils!' said Tom. ' His lordship has much to learn.' 

But as Lord Derwentwater was for the next six months entirely 
occupied with the survey of his own estates, not only in North- 
umberland, but also in Lancashire and Cumberland, Ave saw nothing 
of him, and spent our time without any company other than our 
own. Mr. Patten, it is true, was sometimes so kind as to ride across 
the moor from Allenhead, and by a coarse flattery (call it rather an 
abject surrender of his judgment), compared with Avhich Mr. Hil- 
yard's method was fine and delicate, he acquired an influence over 
Tom which afterwards did great harm. Certainly it was a quiet 
summer which we spent, and had Tom been content I should have 



A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 75 

\ been happy. Fortunately, her ladyship was pleased, and signified 
her pleasure in plain terms. 

' " I design not," ' she wrote, ' " that my nephew should live other 
than a gentleman of his name and position ought. But I am well 
pleased that you are for a space removed from the company of those 
who lead you into wasteful courses with horse-racing and wagers " ' 
— Tom had been of late unfortunate — ' " of which it is now well- 
nigh time to have done. It is my lord's earnest desire that you 
should shortly take the place which becomes your family, and, on 
the retirement of your father, that you should represent the county 
in his stead. As this cannot be done without expense, and as we 
learn that your father is not willing to undertake the charge, having 
his second family to consider, it is the intention of my lord to make 
an annual allowance out of his Northumberland estates, such as may 
suffice for your maintenance in style befitting a gentleman. This 
generosity, I beg you to believe, is unasked by me, though I confess 
that he knows very well the solicitude with which I watch the wel- 
fare of my nephew. To be guided, as well as to be assisted, by so 
great and good a man, should be considered by you an honour." ' 

' This,' said Mr. Hilyard, who was reading the letter, 'is the first- 
fruit of that intention which I foretold six months ago.' 

'Ay,' said Tom, 'always at her ladyship's apron. But go on. 
Has she any more advice ? Am I to ask the Bishop permission to 
take a glass of whisky punch ? Will he give me leave to hunt 
upon the moor ? 'Tis all his.' 

'He who hath patience,' replied Mr. Hilyard, 'hath all. Ladies' 
leading-strings stretch not all the way from Durham to St. Stephen's. 
I proceed with the letter : 

' " I desire next to inform yon that my Lord the Bishop hath a 
great desire to converse with Lord Derwentwater, and that in a 
private and quiet manner which will give no opportunity for mali- 
cious tongues. A Bishop of the English Church cannot openly 
visit a Catholic peer, nor should he invite scandal and malignant 
whispers by entertaining in his own house so close a friend and so 
near a relation of the Prince. He wishes, therefore, that you 
should invite a hunting-party to Blanchland in October, at which 
he, too, unless otherwise prevented, will be present. Among your 
guests be sure that Lord Derwentwater is present. So no more at 
present. Give Dorothy, your sister, my blessing and that of the 
Bishop, and tell Mr. Hilyard, your steward, that I expect thrift in 
household charges while you are at Blanchland. 

' " Your loving Aunt, 

' " Dokothy Crewe." ' 

To bo sure, it was impossible to spend money at this quiet place, 
where there were no gentlemen to make matches, play cards, and 



76 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

lay bets, no market-town nearer than Hexham, no buying of horsey 
and no other people except ourselves and the hinds who tilled our 
lands. There is certainly nowhere in England a place which lie? so 
remote from human habitation, unless it be in Allendale or among 
the Cheviots, as this old ruined Tower of Blanchland. Formerly 
it was a monastery, but was destroyed very long ago, in the reign 
of the first Edward, by a party of marauding Scots, and was never 
afterwards rebuilt. They say that the marauding Scots, who had 
crossed the Border with sacrilegious intent to sack this House of 
God, on account of its reputed wealth, had lost their way upon the 
moor in a mist, and were returning homeward disappointed, when 
they heard the monastery bell ringing close at hand — it was to call 
the good monks together for a Te Deum on account of their escape 
from the enemy whose coming was looked for. Alas ! the bell was 
a knell, and the Te Deum a funeral chant, for the ringing guided 
the robbers to the spot, and they quickly broke through the gates, 
murdered all the monks, set fire to the buildings, and rode away, 
carrying their unhallowed spoil with the sacred vessels, driving the 
monks' cattle before them, and leaving behind them nothing but 
the unburied corpses of the unfortunate brothers. Surely some 
dreadful vengeance must have overtaken these men ; but it is so 
long ago that the memory of their names as well as their punish- 
ment has long since perished, though that of the crime has sur- 
vived. 

Blanchland lies along the valley of the Derwent in a deep hollow 
about the middle of the great moor called Hexhamshire Common, 
and ten or eleven miles south of Hexham ; the stream is here quite 
little and shallow, babbling over pebbles and under trees ; it is 
crossed by the stout old stone bridge built by the monks themselves, 
who once farmed the valley. The fields are now tilled by a few 
hinds who live about and around the quadrangle of the old monas- 
tery still marked by the ancient walls, behind which the rustics have 
built their cottages. The place has the aspect of an ancient and 
decayed college, the quadrangle having been neatly cobbled, and a 
pant of clear water erected by my great-great-grandfather, Sir 
Claudius, who died here in the year 1627. Our own dwelling-house 
consisted of two buildings ; one, which we used for company and 
visitors, is first, a great square tower which stands over the ancient 
gate — Mr. Hilyard says that the place might easily have been held 
for weeks against simple moss-troopers — it has several good rooms 
in it ; and the second a part of the old monastery, including the 
refectory, a fair and noble hall, with a large kitchen below, and 
beside it a small modern house, contrived either by Sir Claudius or 
some previous holder, within another ancient square tower. This 
house, very convenient in all respects, has a stone balcony on the 
north side, from where stone steps lead to the green meadow, which 
was once the monks' burying-place. The ruins of their chapel, an 
old roofless tower and the walls, are standing in the meadow. 
Within the old chapel grass grows between the flags, wallflowers 



A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 77 

flourish upon the walls ; there is on one of the stones a figure and 
an inscription, which Mr. Hilyard interpreted to be that of a certain 
man once Forester to the Abbey. But not a monument or a stone 
to the memory of the dead monks. They are gone and forgotten — 
names, and lives, and all — though their dust and ashes are beneath 
the feet of those who stand there. Bush and bramble grow round 
the chapel and cover the old graves, whose very mounds have now 
disappeared and are level with the turf. Among them rises an old 
stone cross, put up no one knows when. It is truly a venerable 
and ghostly place. In the twilight or moonlight one may see, or 
think he sees, the ghosts of the murdered friars among the ruins. 
In the dark winter evenings, the people said, they could be heard, 
when the wind was high, chaunting in the chapel ; and every year, 
on that day when they rang the fatal bell and so called in the Scots, 
may be heard at midnight the ringing of a knell. Many are there 
who can testify to this miracle ; and at night the venerable ghost 
of the Abbot himself may be sometimes met upon the bridge. But 
this may be rumour, for the people of the place are rude, having no 
learning at all, little religion, but great credulity, and prone to 
believe all they hear. Certainly I have never myself met the 
Abbot's ghost, though I have often stood upon the bridge after 
nightfall alone or with Mr. Hilyard. On the other hand, I have 
heard, on windy nights, the chaunting of the dead monks very 
plainly. While we were there I heard so many ghost-stories that I 
began to suspect something wrong, and presently was not astonished 
to find that the number and dreadful, fearful aspect of the ghosts 
had greatly increased since we came to the place, insomuch that for 
years after (and no doubt until now) the simple people of the 
village, if it may be called a village, were frightened out of their 
lives if they had but to cross the quadrangle or fetch water at the 
pant after sunset. The cause of this terror was no other than my 
maid, Jenny Lee, who saw these apparitions. I verily believe that 
she invented her stories out of pure mischief and wantonness, 
spreading abroad continually tales of new ghosts. One day she saw 
in the graveyard a skull with fiery eyes, which grinned at her. 
Another evening she met the Devil himself (she declared ; but his 
honour and Miss Dorothy must be told nothing about it — artful 
creature !), with flames coming out of his mouth, and a great roar- 
ing, sure to bring mischief, if only the loss of a chicken or a sucking- 
pig, to some one. Another time there was a black dog, which 
portended death. Had I known of these things at the time, Jenny 
should soon, indeed, have gone a-packing. But I did not know tiil 
later on, when Mr. Hilyard inquired into the truth of these stories, 
and traced them all to this girl. 

We passed here a quiet time during the spring and summer of 
that year. In the morning Tom went a- fishing, or hunted the otter, 
or went after badgers, or some kind of vermin, of which there are 
great quantities on the moor. After dinner he commonly slept. 
After eupper he drank whisky punch, and to bed early. As for me, 



78 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

when my housewife duties were accomplished, I talked with tha 
women-folk, who were simple and ignorant, but of good hearts ; or 
walked up the valley along the south side, where there is a high 
slowing bank, or hill — to my mind very beautiful. It is covered 
with trees. By the middle of June these trees have put on their 
leaves, and among the leaves are the pink blossoms of the blue- 
berries and the white flowers of the wild strawberry, to say nothing 
of the wild flowers which clothe the place in that month as with a 
carpet. Even thus, in June, must have looked the Garden of Eden. 
In the afternoon Mr. Hilyard read to me, and we held converse in 
low whispers while Tom slept. And on Sunday morning the 
villagers came together, and Mr. Hilyard read the service appointed 
for the day. It was in June that Lord Derwentwater rode across 
the moor to visit us. We found that the shyness which he showed 
on his first return had gone altogether, being replaced by the most 
charming courtesy and condescension to all ranks. He had also 
begun to acquire the North-country manner of speech, and could 
converse with the common people. On his progress, if so it may be 
palled, he was received everywhere with such joy that he was 
astonished, having as yet done nothing to deserve it. 

' The gentlemen of Northumberland,' he declared, ' are the most 
hospitable in the whole world, and the women are the most beautiful 
—yes, Miss Dorothy, though they are but as the moon compared 
with one sun which I know. As for the moors' — he had just 
ridden across Hexhamshire Common from Allendale to Blanchland 
on his way home to Dilston — ' as for the moors, the air is certainly 
the finest in the world.' 

Then he told us of his travels, the people he had met with, and 
the things he had done and was going to do. He would enlarge 
Dilston ; he would rebuild Langley ; he would build a cottage on 
the banks of Derwentwater, where his ancestors once had a great 
house ; here he would build boats, and then, with his friends, would 
float upon the still waters among the lovely islands of the lake, and 
listen to the cooing of the doves in the woods, or to the melodious 
blowing of horns upon the shore. This, he said, would be all the 
Heaven he would ask if I was there to sit beside him in his boat. 
Alas ! Every taste that most adorns the age was possessed by this 
young nobleman, and especially those truly princely tastes which 
desire the erection of stately buildings, the gathering of friends to 
enjoy his wealth, and the society of beautiful women. We ought 
not to reproach men with weakness on this score, seeing that all 
the best and noblest of mankind — and chiefly those — have loved 
women's society. 

Among other things that pleased him beside the universal welcome 
which he received, was that when he went into Lancashire — it is so 
small a trifle that it should not, perhaps, be mentioned — they made 
him Mayor of Walton. One would hardly suppose' that it was 
worthy of the dignity of so great a lord to be pleased with so small 
z thing. Yet he was, and, just as Tom and his friends loved to 



A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 79 

drink and laugh, and Mr. Hilyard (but of an evening only) to sing 
and act, and play the buffoon, so Lord Derwentwater himself was 
not free from what we may call, without irreverence, a besetting 
infirmity of his sex, and a blemish upon the character of many 
great men — I mean this love of tomfooling. Now, the Corporation 
of Walton is nothing in the world but a club of gentlemen held in 
a village of that name near Preston. Every member of the CluJ, 
held an office. The Mayor has a Deputy, to take the chair in his 
absence. There are also in this foolish society a Recorder, two 
Bniliffs, two Serjeants, a Physician, a Mace-bearer, a Poet Laureate, 
and a Jester. 

This burlesque of serious institutions appeared to Lord Derwent T 
water, and no doubt to the other members of the Club, a most 
humourous stroke ; he laughed continually over their doings and 
sayings with Tom ; and, in fact, so tickled him with the thing, that 
the very next year he took the journey with the Earl to Preston, 
and there was elected into the Club, and honoured with the office 
of Serjeant, while Mr. Hilyard, always to the front where fooling 
and play-acting were concerned, was made at once both Poet 
Laureate and Jester, which offices were happily vacant for him'.' 
It is said that the verses he wrote, the jests he made, and the songs 
he sung, were worthy of being added to Mr. Brown's 'Miscellaneous!. 
Works,' or Mr. D'Urfey's ' Pills to Purge Melancholy ;' but, un- 
fortunately, the records of the Society perished in the disasters of 
the^year .1715, and with them Mr. Hilyard's verses. 

One may easily excuse this levity in Lord Derwentwater, when. 
one remembers that he and all his companions were as yet in their 
earliest manhood, before the vivacity of youth has vanished. Tom, 
the eldest, was but six-and-twenty ; Lord Derwentwater himself, 
the youngest, only twenty-one ; all of them honest country gentle- 
men and their younger brothers, and none, as yet, sated with the 
pleasures of the wicked town. How were the younger sons, for 
instance, to find money for the pleasures of town ? I cannot 
pretend that all these young gentlemen were virtuous, or, in all 
their amusements, innocent ; certainly, a good many of them were 
frequently drunk. But still they were all young, and one feels that 
a young man may sin out of mere youthful joy, and then repent ; 
while an old man, if he sins it is hardness of heart. And, being. 
young, they were full of spirits. 

' Solomon,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' teaches that a merry heart doeth 
good like medicine. Also he reminds us that a merry head maketh 
a cheerful countenance, and, further, that he who is of a merry 
heart hath a continual feast. Wherefore, Miss Dorothy, let not 
this laughter of his honour, my patron, and Lord Derwentwater 
trouble you.' 

Why, it could not trouble one if the causes of thei? mirth could 
have been understood. But it is of no use to talk of these things.. 
Women sit with quiet faces, though their hearts are glad ; but men, 
must needs be laughing. Besides, Solomon has said to much abouf 



80 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

fools and their mirth as to make one afraid, lest, by laughing ovef« 
much, one may be confounded with these fools. 

Then began my lord to come often to Blanchland, and I to enjoy 
the most happy six months of my life. Only six months ! Yet, 
all that went before and all that came after are to be counted as 
nothing compared with that brief period of happiness. He would 
come over in the morning, when Tom was abroad, and hold conver- 
sation with me, either walking or in the old refectory where we 
sat. We talked of many things which I have not forgotten, but 
cannot write down all I remember. Sometimes Mr. Hilyard was 
with us, and sometimes we were alone. We conversed upon high 
and lofty themes, as well as on little things of the moment. Once, 
walking among the ruins of the monks' chapel, I had the temerity — 
or perhaps the ill-breeding — to venture on asking him how it came 
about that a man of his knowledge and penetration could continue 
in the fold of the Roman Catholic Church. 

He was not angry at the question, as might be expected (which 
shows his goodness of heart), but laughed and said that he remained 
a Catholic because no one had yet succeeded in converting the Pope. 

' Fair Doctor of Divinity,' he added ; ' do not tempt me. There 
is nothing I would not willingly do for the sake of your beaux 
yeux ; but ask not a thing which touches my honour. Loyalty I 
owe to my Church as much as to my King. My cousin Dorothy 
would not surely advise a Radcliffe against his honour.' 

This question of his religion dwelt in my lord's mind, and he 
returned to it on another occasion, saying very seriously that 
Protestants were unhappy in knowing none of the repose and ease 
of soul which belong to those who hold what he called the True 
Faith. 

' For,' he said, ' either they are perplexed by doubts and always 
drifting into new heresies, or they are painfully striving, each for 
himself, and unaided, to attain his own safety, or they are guided 
by one or other of the heretic doctors to their irreparable loss ; 
whereas we,' he added, ' live free from doubts. The Church hath 
settled all doubts long ago ; she orders, and we obey ; she teaches, 
and we believe ; we have no reason for proving anything ; we live 
without fear, and when at length we die,' he took off his hat, ' we 
are fortified by the last consolations and tender offices of the 
Church, and borne away by ministering angels, some to Heaven, 
but of these not many ; the rest to the expiating fires of Purgatory 
Fair cousin, I would that you, too, were in this fold with me !' 

I was silenced, for the grave eyes and earnest voice of his lord- 
ship awed my soul. I knew not, indeed, what to answer until I 
consulted with Mr. Hilyard. In thinkiDg over what my lord had 
Baid, his picture of faith seemed fair indeed. 

' Why,' said Mr. Hilyard, when I spoke of it to him, ' that is 
true enough ; but, Miss Dorothy, rememoer that you, too, have a 
Church which teaches, orders, and consoles. Where are the doubts 
pf which his lordship speaks ? I know of none, for my own part ; 



A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 81 

nor do yon. And for us, as well as the Papists, surely there are 
the Sacraments of the Church, without the fires of Purgatory.' 

Thus easily is a Papist answered by a man of learning. 

But to Lord Derwentwater I only made reply, meekly, that I was 
an ignorant girl, and presumptuous in speaking of such things ; 
whereas, if he would take counsel with Lord Crewe or with Mr. 
Hilyard — but upon this he fell a-laughing. 

' What, cousin,' he said, ' would you have me take the opinion of 
a jester, paid to make merriment for his master, and a singer of 
bacchanalian and dissolute songs for a company of drunken revellers ? 
Nay, Miss Dorothy ; I know that he is thy friend, and I speak not 
to make thee angry ; and, in sober moments, I confess that I have 
found him a person of learning and wisdom. But in things spiritual 
— think of it ! As for Lord Crewe, I have heard that he is an ex- 
cellent statesman, venerable for rank and years, and most benevolent 
in character ; but I have never heard that he is a great theologian, 
or to be named in the same breath as the Fathers of the Church. 
And if he were, I have not myself the learning or the wit to 
examine and prove the very foundation of religion, or to be sure of 
getting a new faith if I cast away my present one, or finding belief 
through disbelief, or to hope for greater ease than at present I 
enjoy.' 

So no more was said at the time between them of Popery or 
matters of religion ; as for matters political, naturally there waa 
much talk, especially when letters and papers arrived from London 
with intelligence. The affairs of the French King were going 
badly ; as Englishmen we could not but rejoice, therefore. Yet the 
hopes of the Prince, so far as they rested on France, were decaying 
fast, wherefore we must be sorry ; yet again, as if to put us in 
heart, it was reported that London was growing daily more favour- 
able to the lawful Sovereign. 

' What London is, my lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, ever anxious to 
glorify his native town, 'that is the country. London deserted 
Richard II., and he fell ; London joined Edward IV., and the Lan- 
castrians' cause was lost ; it was London which deposed King 
Charles and sent King James a-packing. Yet the passions of the 
mob are fickle ; we know them not. To-day they bawl for the 
Chevalier ; to-morrow they will throw up their caps for the Pro- 
testant religion, and will plunder a Catholic Ambassador's house. 
It hath been well observed that the mob is like Tiberius, who, to 
one beginning, " You remember, Caesar ?" replied, " Nay ; I do not 
remember what I was." ' 

' We are a long way from Caesar,' said the Earl. ' Let us, however, 
have no secret conspiracies and dark plots. There have been too 
many such already. It is not by treason that we shall bring back 
the King ; but by the voice of the people. Never shall it be said 
that I, for one, dragged men from their homes to fight for their 
Prince, unless it was first made clear that the country was wholly 

for him.' 

C 



8a DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' If London speaks, the nation will follow,' Mr. Hilyard repeated 
*When the country gentry agree to rise,' said Tom, 'the thing is 
as good as done.' 

' Then let nothing be done,' Lord Derwentwater added, ' till the 
voice of the country is certain, and the gentlemen of the country 
can be depended upon. As for French bayonets, we want none of 
them. And for premature risings, let us countenance none of them, 
nor have to do with those who would bring them about. Say I 
well, TomForster?' 

' Excellently well, my lord,' Tom replied ; thcngh he was already, 
I now believe, in some kind of correspondence with those arch- 
conspiraiors, Dick Gascoigne and Captain Talbot. But let these 
words be remembered, because in the sequel it will be seen that 
they fell into Tom's heart and remained there, bringing forth fruit. 
The summer passed away with such discourse. The hunting-party 
was fixed for October the 30th. Mr. Hilyard, following her ladyship's 
instructions, designed to make it a small and private party ; but 
when it was known that the illustrious Lord Crewe, with his wife, 
would be present, there came so many promises of attendance, that 
order had to be taken for a very great quantity of provisions, the 
arrangement for which cost myself and Jenny Lee many a long 
day's work. On the 29th, the Bishop and Lady Crewe rode from 
Bishop's Auckland, a distance of twenty miles, over rough country 
ways — a long ride for a man between seventy end eighty years of 
age. When we heard that they were visible from the hill, Tom 
and I went forth to meet them, and led them from the bridge to 
the porch. 

When Lady Crewe, whom then I saw for the first time since a 
little child, dismounted, I perceived, though she was wrapped in a 
great thick hood covering her from head to foot, that she had brown 
curling hair like my own, and dark brown eyes of a singular bright- 
ness, which my own also somewhat resembled, and that she was of 
the same height, though stouter, then being about the age of forty. 

'So,' she said to Tom, 'thou art my nephew and my coheir. 
Kiss my cheek, Tom. We shall have a great deal to say.' 
Then Tom assisted the Bishop to dismount. 

'"Welcome, my lord,' he said, 'to your own house and Manor of 
Blanchland.' 

'As for its being mine own, Nephew Forster,' said his lordship, 
' thou must ask thy aunt. She will not willingly let Bamborough 
and Blanchland go to a Crewe.' 

Then we led them within, and I received my aunt's gloves and 
muff, after kindly greetings from her ; but I observed that her 
eyes followed Tom. 

I would have knelt to the Bishop for his blessing, but he raised 
me, saying kindly 

'Let me see thy face, Miss Dorothy the younger. Why — so — 
there are Forsters still, I see. Wife, here is the living picture of 9 
certain maid with whom I fell in Jove twenty years ago. Thou art 



A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 83 

not so beautiful in my eyes, child, as thy aunt ; but I doubt not 
there are plenty who ' 

'He hath the face of Ferdinando,' cried my aunt, speaking of 
Tom, ' and the voice of poor Will. But perhaps most he favours 
my father, Sir William.' 

'She is very like all these, my dear,' said Lord Crewe, looking 
earnestly at me. ' Child, when I look upon thy face I see my own 
Dorothy again, in her first beauty. Yet she is always the most 
beautiful woman in the world to me. And every age with her will 
bring its own charm.' 

' He has the manner of my own bi'anch, not the Etherstoa 
Forsters,' my lady continued. ' Tom, you must come with me to 
London before you go into the House. I shall present you to Lady 
Cowper, our cousin' (she was a Clavering). 'She is a rank Whig t 
but a woman of fashion and, what is better, of sense and virtue. 
Sense and virtue go together, Dorothy, child, though some people 
will have it otherwise.' 

Lord Crewe bestowed upon Tom a passing glance, which showed 
me that he was less interested than his wife in the male Forsters. 

' My dear,' he said, ' if your nephew is wise he will a^k for tha 
society of no other woman than yourself while ne is in ijondon.' 

Lord Crewe loved his wife so fondly that these compliments 
were but expressions of his tenderness. Most old men dote on 
their young wives : not so Lord Crewe. His passion, old as he was, 
was that of strong manhood, a steady and ardent flame which 
every woman should desire, one which causes the care and thought- 
fulness of the lover to remain long after the honeymoon, and, 
indeed, throughout the earthly course. Never was there any example 
more truly illustrating the virtue and happiness of conjugal leva 
than that of Lord Crewe and his wife. 

When she had removed her travelling attire, and appeared, her 
hair dressed in afontange with Colberteen lace, her silk dres_ looped, 
to show the rich petticoat beneath, the lace upon her sleeve, her 
gold chain, and, above all, the surpassing dignity of her carriage 
and beauty of her face (though now in her fortieth year), I owned 
to myself that I had never before seen a lady so stately or so truly 
handsome, or so completely becoming her exalted rank as the wife 
either of an English bishop or an English baron. 

' What are thy thouahts, child ?' she asked, smiling, because I am 
sure she knew very well what they were. 

' Madam,' I replied, with respect, ' I was but thinking how the 
people everywhere, not only the geutlefolk but the common folk, 
and not only at Bamborough, but here and at Alnwick and every* 
where, speak still of the beautiful Dorothy Forster — and that now 
I know at length what they mean.' 

' Tut, tut !' she replied, but she laughed and blushed — she had 
still the fairest complexion ever seen, and the clearest skin (for tha 
sake of her complexion she would never drink beer, and washed in. 
cold water all the year round), and a colour, white anclVed, which, 

6—2 



84 DOROTHY FOSTER. 

came and went like a girl's ; her teetli were of a pearly white — 
women of forty are sometimes lamentable to look upon, so bad have 
their teeth become — with a mouth and rosy lips which seemed still 
young ; her face was- round rather than oval ; her eyes were large and 
dark brown, as I have said ; her hair was piled in a low tower, and 
covered with laces ; her sloping shoulders were also half -hidden by 
a lace mantle, and she had the most dainty figure ever seen. Truly 
a Juno among women, who had been the chief of the Graces in her 
youth. 

' Tut, tut !' she replied, tapping my cheek with her fan, but yet 
well pleased. ' Silly child ! Beauty is but for a day. "We women 
have our little summer of good looks. A few years and it is over. 
I am an old woman now. But you, my dear, may look into the 
glass and see there what your aunt was like when she, like you, was 
nineteen years of age.' 

Then we sat down to supper, Mr. Hilyard being first presented. 
He would have absented himself altogether, being modest and much 
afraid of the Lord Bishop ; but my lady asked for him, and was 
good enough to insist upon his presence. Conversation was grave 
and serious, chiefly sustained by the Bishop, Mr. Hilyard saying 
never a word, but keeping his eyes on the table, and mightily re- 
lieved when at nine his lordship begged to be excused, on the ground 
that they had travelled far, and that now he was old and must to 
bed betimes. 

' You have put us in the haunted chamber, Dorothy,' said Lady 
Crewe. ' It was there that Sir Claudius died. When I was a child, 
I looked every day after dark for his ghost. But it never came. 
Yes, Blanchland is a strange, ghostly place. The people used to 
speak of terrible things.' 

The Bishop gave her his hand. 

' Come, my dear,' he said. ' I engage to drive away any ghosts 
that come to disturb your sleep.' 

Nathaniel, Lord Crewe, of Stene, in Northamptonshire, and Bishop 
of Durham, was at this time seventy-seven years of age, which we 
rightly consider a very great age indeed. There were in him, how- 
ever, none of the infirmities of age ; his walk was as firm, his eye 
was as clear, his voice as vigorous, his seat on horseback as steady, 
as in most men at fifty. In appearance he was most singular. For 
he wore his own hair, and not a wig ; this was long, and abundant, 
and perfectly white ; on his upper lip was a small whisker or 
moustache ; he always had upon his head a little velvet cap ; he was, 
in person, tall and spare ; in his carriage, he stooped somewhat, a 
fine, scholarly habit, as caused by much reading and meditation ; 
his eyes were black and piercing ; his nose was straight and clear ; 
his lips were set firm ; and his chin was long and pointed. Those 
who have seen the portrait of Charles I., may be informed that 
Lord Crewe's face somewhat resembled that of the sainted monarch. 

He was a younger son of Lord Crewe, of Stene, in Northampton- 
shire, but, by the death of his elder brothers, he succeeded, in his 



A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 85 

fiftieth year, to tfaa title. He was, in early life, a distinguished 
scholar of Lincoln College, Oxford, and was elected a Fellow of 
that venerable Foundation during the Protectorate, but declared for 
Crown and Hierarchy in 1660. He was made Sector of his College, 
Dean of Chichester, and Clerk of the Closet to King Charles II. 
In the year 1671, he was consecrated Bishop of Oxford, and two 
years later was translated to the See of Durham, which he held for 
fifty years, the longest episcopate, I believe, in the history of the 
Church of England. 

No one is ignorant that this prelate incurred great odium during 
the reign of King James II. for his support of that monarch's 
measures. I am not obliged to defend or to accuse his action while 
he was on the Ecclesiastical Commission ; and to those who charge 
him with the prosecution of Dr. Samuel Johnson, of the Vice- 
Chancellor of Cambridge, with his famous offer to attend publicly 
the entry of the Pope's Nuncio into London, and with his conduct 
in the case of Magdalen College, Oxford, the writer has nothing at 
all to say, because she is a simple woman, and these things are too 
high for her. It is true that in 1688 he was exempted from pardon, 
and had to take flight across the seas ; yet, which shows that his 
enemies had nothing they could bring home to him, he presently 
came back and remained unmolested until his death — that is to say, 
for five-and-twenty years. He was so good a man, and of so truly 
kind a heart, that one cannot believe he ever did or said a wrong 
thing. Certainly he never changed his principles, upholding Divine 
Eight and the lawful succession of the Stuarts, and making no 
secret of his doctrines. As becomes a bishop, however, he took no 
active share in the affairs of the party, except in this very year of 
grace, namely 1710, when he opposed the prosecution of Dr. 
Sacheverell. And his last words to his chaplain when he died, full 
of years, in 1722, were, 'Remember, Dick, never go over to the 
other side.' 

As for his wealth, he possessed, as Lord Crewe, his estates and 
the ancestral seat of Stene, with other manors and houses, in 
Northamptonshire. As Lord Bishop of Durham, he enjoyed the 
revenues and the powers of a Prince Palatine, with six splendid 
castles, including Durham, Auckland, and Norham, and eight great 
houses. He mostly kept his Court (for truly it was little less) at 
Durham, where he entertained ia the year 1677 the unfortunate 
Duke of Monmouth, on his way to the north. A magnificent pre- 
late, indeed ; with the courage to declare and uphold his opinions ; 
splendid in his carriage, his language, his dress, and in the liveries 
of his servants ; one who ruled himself, his household, and his 
diocese with a firm hand ; who spent freely, yet administered 
prudently ; was affable to a!l except to those who would dispute 
his authority or his rank. 

' And now, Tony,' said Tom, when they were gone, ' we cannot 
Bing with a bishop in the house ; but we can drink. The lemons, 
brave boy, and the whisky. Methinks her ladyship means well.' 



86 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' So well,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that your honour hath but to defer 
to her opinions, and your fortunes will be higher even than I looked 
for. As for myself,' here he sighed, and looked miserable for the 
space of three and a half rummers of punch, when he cheered up, 
and said that if starvation was before him, all the more reason for 
enjoying the present moment, and that of all the choice gifts of 
Heaven, that of whisk;/ punch was certainly the one for which 
mankind should be m"ost grateful. While he discoursed upon its 
merits I left them, and to bed. 



CHAPTER IX. 

A HUNTING PAETY. 

It has been pretended that the party of this day was one of the 
earliest attempts ma-de by Mr. Forster the younger towards making 
himself the leader of the cause in the north. On the contrary, he 
had as yet no thought at all about leading. The gentlemen came 
together for no other purpose than to meet the Bishop (many of 
them being Catholics, who could only see him on some such occa 
sion) and Lord Derwentwater, and the meeting was especially 
summoned to enable these two to meet one another. Among those 
who came to the meeting were many of the gentlemen who five 
years afterwards, to their undoing, took up arms for the Prince. 
Most of them lay at Hexham overnight, and came over the moor in 
the morning. It was a gallant sight, indeed, to see the gentlemen 
riding into the quadrangle, and giving their horses to the grooms, 
while they paid their respects to Lady Crewe, who was already 
dressed, early as it was, and received them with a kindly welcome 
which pleased all, The Bishop, she said, begged to be excused at 
that early hour ; xie would meet his friends in the evening. Mean- 
time, breakfast, or luncheon, was spread, with cold pasties, spiced 
beef, game, and beer for all who chose. 

They were a hearty and hungry crew. One cannot but re- 
member with what good- will they trooped in, and how they made 
the sirloins of beef to grow small, the pasties to vanish, and the 
birds to disappear — except their bones ; also with what cheerfulness 
they exhorted each other to fill up and drink again. They had a 
day's hunting before them. Surely a man may eat and drink who 
is going out for six or eight hours a-horseback across Hexhamshire 
Common. It was a pretty sight, certainly, when they had finished, 
to see them mount in the great quadrangle, with the shouting of the 
younger men — ah ! King Solomon's medicine of the merry heart ! 
— and so off, trooping through the old gateway out upon the open 
moor, whither the huntsman had taken the hounds. I, who seldom 
rode, went with them on this day. Beside mo rode Lord Derwent- 
water, brave in scarlet, as were his brothers. But he was grave, and 
•ven sad. 

' I cannot but think, Miss Dorothy,' he said, ' that it is a strange 



A HUNTING PARTY. g 7 

thing for us to laugh and shout while our business is to talk ox 
treason, according to the law of the land. When will treason 
become loyalty, and rebellion fidelity to the King ?' 

Then there arose a great yo-hoing and shouting, and the fox was 
found, and we all rode after it. About that day's hunting it needs 
not to speak much. It was a long run. Tom, with Charlie Radcliffe, 
was in at the death, and they gave me the creature's brush. As for 
Lord Derwentwater, he left not my side, being more concerned to 
talk with me than to gallop after the hounds. Certainly he never 
was a keen fox-hunter, his ideas of the hunt being taken from 
France, where, as he hath told me, the party ride down lanes or 
allies, in a great forest, after a wild boar or a stag, the sides of the 
lanes being lined with rustics, to prevent the boar from taking 
shelter in the wood. But he owned that our sport was more manly. 
This was a pleasant, nay, a delightful ride for me, seeing as I did in 
the eyes of his lordship those signs of admiration which please the 
hearts of all women alike, whether they be confident in their beauty 
or afraid that they possess no charms to fix the affections of in- 
constant man. Perhaps we guess very readily what mosl we desire. 
At this time (let me confess and own without shame what need not 
be concealed) I had begun to desire one thing very much ; that is 
to say, I understood very well that the happiest woman in the world 
would be she to whom this young gentleman would give the price- 
less blessing of his love. This made me watchful of his speech and 
looks ; and enabled me, young and inexperienced as I was, to read 
very well the confession made by eyes full of admiration, though 
no word at all was spoken. No gentleman in the world had better 
eyes or sweeter than Lord Derwentwater, and no man's love, I knew 
very well, was more to be desired ; and, innocent and ignorant as 
we were, neither of us, at that time, considered the difficulties in 
the way. Poor Dorothy ! 

Some of the elder gentlemen remained behind, and sat all the 
morning to talk with Lady Crewe, once their toast and charming 
beauty, still beautiful and gracious, as a great lady should be. Every 
woman likes, I suppose, to feel that men remember the beauty of 
her youth. It is a fleeting thing, and we are told that, like all 
earthly things, it is a vanity. Nevertheless, it is a vanity which 
pleases for a lifetime, and, like understanding in a man, it may be 
used, while it lasts, for great purposes. Lady Crewe knew well 
how to use her beauty and charm of words as well as of face, in 
order to lead men whithersoever she would. This is a simple art, 
though few women understand it, being nothing more or less than 
to make each man think the thing which he most desires to believe 
true, namely, that he occupies wholly the thoughts, hopes, interest, 
and sympathy of the woman who would lure him and lead him. 

' It is not love,' said Mr. Hilyard once, ' so much as vanity, which 
leads the world. Dalila conquered Samson by playing upon his 
pride of strength. Cleopatra overcame Antony by acknowledging 
the irresistible charm of a h«iu.' 



83 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

So Lady Crewe, by coaxing, flattering, makiDg men feel happy 
and proud of themselves (since they would please so great and 
gracious a lady), in a word, by charming men, could do with them 
what she pleased. Of course, it need not be said that there could be 
no question of gallantry with this stately dame, the wife of the 
great Lord Crewe. Certainly not ; yet all men were her slaves. 

Some time between ten and eleven in the forenoon, the party 
being all ridden forth, my lord the Bishop came out from his 
chamber, dressed and ready for the duties of the day. At so 
advanced a stage of life, one must, I suppose, approach each day, 
which may be the last, slowly and carefully, fortified before the 
work of the day begins with food, prayer, and meditation. Jlis 
lordship looked older in the morning than in the evening ; yet not 
decayed. Though the lines and crow's-feet of age lay thickly upon 
his face, so that it was seamed and scarred by a thousand waving 
lines, his eye was as bright and his lips as firm as if he were but 
forty or fifty. After a little discourse with the gentlemen who had 
remained behind, he sent immediately for Mr. Hilyard. He, to say 
the truth, was by no means anxious for the interview, and had 
shown, ever since this party was proposed, a singular desire to 
avoid the Bishop ; proposing a hundred different pretexts for his 
absence. 

First, his lordship, with great show of politeness, of which he 
was perfect master, begged Mr. Hilyard to show him the ruins and 
remains of this strange place, which our steward very willingly did, 
hoping, as will be seen, to stave off: the questions which he feared. 
Presently, after talk about the Premonstratensian Friars (this was 
the learned name of the monks who were murdered, but why they 
had so long a name, or what it means, I know not, nor need we 
inquire into the superstitious reasons for such a name), and after 
considering the quadrangle and the ancient Gate Tower, they turned 
into the graveyard, where were the ruins of the chapel. Here they 
talked of Gothic architecture, a subject on which, as on so many 
other things, Mr. Hilyard was well versed ; and the Bishop, after 
lamenting the ruin of so beautiful a place, said that he could not 
suffer whole families thus to grow up in heathendom with so fair 
a chapel waiting but a roof, and that he should take order therefor. 

' As for you, sir,' he said to Mr. Hilyard, ' you seem to be pos- 
sessed of some learning. You have studied, I perceive, the archi- 
tecture of our churches.' 

' In my humble way, my lord, I have read such books on tho 
subject as have fallen into my hands.' 

' And you are not unacquainted with the ancient dispositions of 
monasteries, it would seem.' 

' Also in my small way, my lord ; and with such chances of ob- 
servation as I have obtained.' 

Then the Bishop seated himself upon a fallen stone in the corner 
of the tower, where he was sheltered from the wind, and where the 
sunshine fell, and fixed upon Mr. Hilyard his eyes, which were like 



A HUNTING PARTY. 89 

the eyes of a hawk for clearness, and more terrible for sternness 
than the eyes of a lion, and said : 

' Then, sir, let me ask : "Who are yon ?' 

' My lord, my name, at your lordship's service, is Antony Hil- 
yard.' 

' So much I know. And for ten years, or thereabouts, in the 
service of the Forsters. Now, sir, I meddle not with affairs which 
belong not to me, therefore when Mr. Thomas Forster of Etherston 
received you as my nephew's tutor, I made no inquiry. Again, 
when I heard, through her ladyship, that the tutor, instead of 
becoming a chaplain, as is generally his laudable ambition, became 
a steward, I made no inquiry, because, tutor or steward, your affairs 
seemed to concern me not at all. But in view of the singular affec- 
tion which my lady hath conceived for her nephew, her hopes for 
his future, and her designs as regards his inheritance, I can no longer 
suffer him to remain under the influence of men about whose 
character I know nothing. Doubtless, sir, you are honest. My 
nephew and his sister swear that you are honest.' 

4 1 hope so, my lord.' 

'It is certain that you have, whether for purposes of your own 
or not, acquired such an influence over both my nephew and my 
niece that I must come to an understanding. You sing, act, and 
play the Merry Andrew, when he has his friends about him ; you 
manage his household, and keep his accounts ; you have taught the 
young lady to sing, play music, read French, and other things, which, 
as my lady is assured, are all innocent and desirable accomplish- 
ments. We have also learned that although you were engaged upon 
a salary or wage of thirty pounds a 3 r ear, you have never received 
any of that money, save a guinea here and there for clothing. Now, 
sir, I judge not beforehand, but you may be, for aught I know, a 
vile Whig, endeavouring to instil into an honest mind pernicious 
opinions ; or you may be one of those secret plotters who are the 
curse of our party, and lure on gentlemen to their destruction ; or 
you may be, which is not impossible, a Jesuit on some secret service. 
So, sir, before we go any further, you will tell me who and what 
you are — whose son, where born and brought up — of what stock, 
town, religion.' 

' For my birth, my lord, I am of London ; for my religion, I am 
a Protestant and humble servant of the Church ; for my origin, my 
father was a vintner, with a tavern in Barbican ; for my education, 
it was at St. Paul's School, where I got credit for some scholarship, 
and ' — here he bowed his head, and looked guilty — ' at Oxford, in 
your lordship's own College of Lincoln.' 

' Go on, sir.' For now Mr. Hilyard showed signs of the greatest 
distress, and began to cough, to hem, to blow his nose, and to wipe 
his brow. ' Go on, sir, I command.' 

' I cannot deny, my lord — nay, I confess — though it cost me the 

£ost I hold and drive me out into the world — that I concealed from 
It. Forster the reasons why I left Oxford without a degree, i 



go DOROTHY FORSTER. 

hope that your lordship will consider my subsequent conduct to 
have in some measure mitigated the offence.' 
' What was the reason ?' 
'My lord, I was expelled.' 

The Bishop nodded his head as terrible as great Jove. 
'So, sir,' he said, while the unlucky man trembled before him,, 
' so, sir, you were expelled. This is truly an excellent recommenda- 
tion for a tutor and teacher of young gentlemen. Pray, sir, why 
this punishment ?' 

' My lord,' the poor man replied in great confusion, ' suffer me of 
your patience to explain that from my childhood upwards I have 
continually been afflicted — affliction must I needs call that which 
hath led me to the ruin of my hopes — with the desire of mocking, 
acting, and impersonating ; also with the temptation to write verses, 
whether in Latin or in English ; and with the love of exciting the 
laughter and mirth of my companions. So that to hold up to deri- 
sion the usher while at school, which caused me often to be soundly 
switched, was my constant joy — even though I had afterwards to 
cry — because my fellows laughed at the performance. Or I was 
acting and rehearsing for their delight some passage from Dryden, 
Shakespeare, or Ben Jonson, which I had seen upon the stage.' 
' In plain language, sir, thou wast a common buffoon.' 
' Say, rather, my lord, with submission, an actor — histrio. Roscius 
was rather my model than the Roman mime.' 
' As thou wilt, sir. Go on.' 

' Your lordship cannot but remember that at every public act the 
Terree Filius, after the Proctor, hath permission to ridicule, or to 

hold up to derision, or to satirize ' 

' Man,' cried the Bishop, ' I had partly guessed it. Thou wert, 
then, a Terra? Filius.' 

' My lord, it is most true.' 

The Bishop's face lost its severity. He laughed, while Mr. Hal- 
yard stood before him trembling, yet a little reassured, For, to say 
the truth, he expected nothing but instant dismissal. 

' The Terrae Filius,' said the Bishop. ' There were many of them, 
but few of much account. Some were coarse, some were ill-bred, 
some were rustic, some were rude — here and there one was witty. 
The heads and tutors loved better the coarse than the witty. Ay, 
ay ! They expelled Tom Pittie when I was a bachelor, and they 
made Lancelot Addison, afterwards Dean of Lichfield, beg pardon 
on his knees. So, sir, you were the licensed jester of the University ? 
An honourable post, forsooth !' 

' It was not so much, my lord,' Mr. Hilyard went on, ' for my 
jests before the University, as for certain verses which were brought 
home to me by the treachery of a man, who — but that does not 
concern your lordship.' 

'Of ".'hat kind where the versc3 ?' 

'They were of a satirical kind.' Mr. Hilyard pulled out his 
pocket-book, in which be kept memoranda, receipts, bills, and so 



A HUNTING PARTY. 91 

forth. ' If your lordship would venture to look at them. I keep 
always by me a copy to remind me of my sin.' He found a worn 
and thumb-marked sheet of printed paper. ' In Latinity they have 
been said to have a touch of Martial or Ausonius at his best — but I 
may not boast.' He placed the verses in the Bishop's hands, and 
waited, with a look of expectant pride rather than of repentance : 
be was no longer a confessing sinner, or a jester brought to shame ; 
bat, rather, a poet waiting for his patron's verdict of praise or 
blame. 

The Bishop read ; the Bishop smiled ; then the Bishop laughed. 

' The matter, truly, is most impudent, and richly deserved pun- 
ishment. The style, doubtless, deserved reward. And for this 
thou wast expelled ?' 

' My letters recommendatory, my lord, made no mention of the 
thing. Indeed, they were all written for me by those scholars who 
were my friends and companions.' 

'Well, sir, it is done, and I suppose you have repented often 
enough. For so good a scholar might have aspired to the dignities 
of the Church. It is an old tale : for a moment's gratification, a 
lifelong sorrow. You laughed as a boy, in order that you might 
cry as a man. You might have become Fellow, Dean, Tutor, even 
Master ; Rector of a country living, Canon, Prebendary, Archdeacon, 
or even — Bishop. There are, in these times, when gentlemen fly 
from the Church, many Bishops on the Bench of no better origin 
than your own. You are steward to a country gentleman ; keeper 
of farm and household accounts ; fellow-toper, when his honour is 
alone ; jester, when he hath company.' 

' I know it, my lord,' replied Mr. Hifyard humbly. ' I am Mr. 
Forster's servant. Yet, a faithful servant.' 

' I know nothing to the contrary. Why have you not, during 
these six years, asked for the money promised at the outset ?' 

' Oh, my lord — consider — pray — I am under obligation of grati- 
tude to a most kind and generous master, and a most considerate 
mistress. They subsist, though his honour would not like it stated 
so plainly, on the bounty of your lordship and my lady. Should I 
presume to take for myself what was meant for his honour ?' 

The Bishop made no reply for a while, but looked earnestly into 
bis face. 

' Either thou aft a very honest fellow,' he said at length, ' or thou 
art a practised courtier.' 

' No courtier, my lord.' 

' I believe not. Now, sir, I think it will be my duty to advise 
her ladyship that no change need be made. But further inquiry 
must be made. Continue, therefore, for the present, in thy duties. 
And, for the salary, I will see that thou lose nothing.' 

He then began to ask, in apparently a careless fashion, about tha 
manner of our daily life, hearing how Tom spent his days in shoot- 
ing and so forth, and showed no desire for reading, yet was no fool, 
and ready to receive informatiaa ; Aiow the hospitality of the Manor 



92 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

House, though not so splendid as that of its late owners, was abund. 
ant, and open to all who came, and so forth ; to all of which the 
Bishop listened, as great men use, namely, as if these small things 
are of small importance, yet it is well to know them, and that, 
being so small, it is not necessary to express an opinion upon them. 

' I hear,' he said, ' that certain agitators continue to go about the 
country. Do they come here ?' 

Mr. Hilyard replied that Captain Gascoigne and Captain Talbot 
had been to the north that year, but that Mr. Forster was not, to 
his knowledge, in correspondence with them. 

' It is important,' said the Bishop, ' that no steps be taken for the 
present. There are reasons of State.. See that you encourage no 
such work. I take it that my nephew is popular, by reason of a 
frank character and generous hand, such as the Forsters have always 
displayed, rather than by learning or eloquence.' 

' Your lordship is right. If I may presume to point out a fault 
in my patron ' 

' What is it ?' 

'It is his inexperience. He hath never, except to Cambridge, 
gone beyond his own county. Therefore he may be easily imposed 
upon, and led — whither his friends would not wish him to go.' 

To this the Bishop made no reply, but fell into a meditation, and 
presently rose and left Mr. Hilyard among the ruins. 

'I expected,' said Mr. Hilyard, when he told me of this discourse, 
' nothing short of an order to be packing. Nothing short of that 
would do, I thought, for a man who had been expelled the Univer- 
sity for holding up the Seniors to derision. Alas ! I have been a 
monstrous fool. Yet I doubt not I should do it again. When wit 
is in, wisdom is out. There was a man of whom I once read, " He 
might have saved his life could he have refrained his tongue." But 
he could not. Therefore, he said his epigram and was hanged, 
happy in the thought that his bon-mot would be remembered. Lika 
good actions, good sayings live and bear fruit beyond the tomb. 
My satire on the Senior Proctor — the Bishop laughed at it. Think 
you that many Bishops in the future will not also laugh at it ?' 

' Is it so very comical, Mr. Hilyard, that it would make me laugh ? 
For, you know, my sex are not so fond of laughing as your own.' 

He replied, a little disconcerted, that the chief points of his 
yatire lay in the Latin, which I could not understand. 

The business of the day, namely, the conversation between Lord 
Derwentwater and Lord Crewe, took place in the evening, after 
dinner. Our guests were divided into two sets, one of which con- 
sisted of the older and more important gentlemen present, and the 
other of the younger sons. The latter spent their evening in the 
kitchen under the refectory, where they were perfectly happy, if 
the noise of singing and laughing denotes happiness. I saw Tom's 
face grow melancholy as he sat between Lord Crewe on his left and 
Lady Crewe on his right, listening to discourse on grave and serious 



A HUNTING PARTY. 93 

matters, while all this merriment went on below. Strange it was 
to see at the same table an English Bishop and a Catholic Earl. 

When the servants were gone, Tom rose in his place and reminded 
his friends that they were assembled there in order to afford an 
opportunity for a conference between Lord Crewe, the Bishop of 
Durham, on the one hand, and Lord Derwentwater, with the honest 
gentlemen of the county, on the other. This conference being 
happily arranged, they would remind each other that they had with 
them the most venerable of the party, one who could remember 
Noll Cromwell himself, and had voted for King and Bishops before 
Charles II. came back. With which words he asked them to drink 
to the Prince. 

After this they began by all, with one consent, talking of the 
latest intelligence, and of the great hopes which they entertained ; 
how the Queen was reported to lean more and more to the cause of 
her brother ; how the people of London were fast recovering their 
loyalty ; and how the country, save for a few pestilent and unnatural 
Whigs, was Jacobite to the core ; and so forth. It seemed as if I 
had heard that kind of talk all my life. If it was true, why could 
they not recall the Prince at once, and without more to do? 
If it was not true, why try to keep up their spirits with a 
falsehood ? The plain, simple truth does not do for men ; 
they must have exaggerations, rumours, see everything greater 
than it is. Otherwise, there would be no such thing as a 
party. 

' To one wise man,' said Mr. Hilyard to me, speaking privately of 
this matter, ' it seems as if, things being weighed, the for and the 
against, the scale inclines this way. To another wise man, the 
scale inclines that way. To the followers of those wise men who 
cannot weigh the arguments, or even perceive them, the scale kicks 
the beam. The more ignorant the partisan, the more thorough he 
is. Wherefore, the Lord protect us from wars of religion, in which 
every common soldier knows more than his officers.' 

While this kind of talk went on, the Bishop sat quiet and grave, 
saying nothing ; while Lord Derwentwater listened, and Lady 
Crewe smiled graciously on one after the other as they appealed 
to her. 

When each had said what was in his mind on the matter of 
loyalty, the Bishop invited Lord Derwentwater to tell the company, 
who had never had the happiness of seeing the Prince, what manner 
of man he was to look upon. 

' In person, my Lord Bishop,' he replied, ' his Highness is tall, 
and inclined to be thin, as his father was before him. He is, 
although so young in years, already grave in manner ; hs speaks 
little ; he is rarely heard to laugh ; he hath little or nothing of the 
natural gaiety of young men in France. He rides well ; his personal 
courage cannot be doubted, having been sufficiently proved at Oude- 
narde°and Malplaquet ; he is familiar with the names of all his 
friends. For instance, in Northumberland, he knows that he can 



94 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

reckon on Tom Forster ' — here my lord bowed to Tom, who red- 
dened with pleasure, and drank off another bumper to the Prince — ■ 
' and on Mr. Errington ' — here Mr. Errington did the like, and his 
lordship went on to name other gentlemen, especially Protestants, 
in the room. 

' If a woman may ask the question,' said Lady Crewe, ' we would 
hope that his character for religion and virtue, as well as for courage, 
is such as to endear him to the hearts of those who would fain see 
princes of blameless life.' 

At this time the Prince, then only two-and-twenty years of age, 
though he had not acquired the reputation which afterwards made 
many of his friends in England cold to him, was by no means free 
from reproach — indeed, there are many who throw temptation in 
the way of a prince — and Lord Derwentwater paused before he 
replied. 

' As for religion,' said my lord, ' I know that he hath been most 
religiously educated, and that his mother is a saintly woman. So 
much I can depose from my own knowledge. For, if my Lord 
Bishop will pardon the remark, there were more masses at St. 
Germain's than many about the Court would willingly attend. As 
for virtue, there have been rumours — are there not rumours of 
every Prince ? One must not repeat idle reports.' 

' One would wish to know,' said the Bishop, ' if the Prince hath 
a martial bearing, and one which may encourage his followers. 
Let us remember the gallantry of Prince B,upert, and the cheerful 
courage of young King Hal at Agincourt.' 

' I have never seen him,' Lord Derwentwater replied, ' with 
troops. I know not whether his face would show the cheerful 
courage of which your lordship speaks. That he is brave is well 
known. If he is less at home in camp than in his Court, we must 
thank the Queen, his mother, and the good priests, his instructors, 
who have made him, perhaps, fitter for heaven than for earth.' 

' I very much doubt it,' said the Bishop, with a smile. 

It was wonderful to think that here was a young gentleman who 
had actually been brought up with His Highness, and conversed 
with him, and was telling us about him. 

' Well,' said the Bishop, ' they may have made him fitter for the 
Mass than the march. Pity— pity— a thousand pities that his 
father must needs throw away his crown for his creed — your 
pardon, my lord— when he had already, had he pleased, the ancient, 
yet reformed, Church of England. It likes me not. I would rather 
he were more of a soldier and less of a priest. These things are 
well known to me already, but I wished that these gentlemen here 
also should hear them. For, believe me, all is not yet clear before 
us, my lord. I have watched the times for fifty years and more. 
The crowd hath shouted now for one side, and now for another ; 
but never, saving your lordship's presence, have their greasy caps 
been tossed up for a Koman Catholic. And, even if the general 
opinion b© true, and the voice qf {.he country be for the young 



A HUNTING PARTY 95 

Prince, I am very certain that be will not win the English heart, 
and so secure his throne, unless he con-.; it to change his religion.' 

' It may be so,' replied the Earl. ' Yet sure I am that he will 
never change his religion.' 

'Then,' said the Bishop, 'if he comes home this year, or next, 
the very next year after his priests will get him sent abroad again. 
We are a people who have religion much upon the lips — and it is 
the Protestant religion — but it hinders not the luxury of the rich 
or the vices of the poor. There are still living among us — I say 
this in presence of you Catholic gentlemen — those whose fathers 
and grandfathers have spoken with men and women who remem- 
bered the flames of Smithfield. Your lordship is young, but you 
will never — I prophesy — no, never — see England so changed that 
she will look without jealousy and hatred upon a court of priests.' 

' The King may surround himself, if he pleases, with Protestant 
advisers,' said the Earl. ' We of the old faith are content to sit at 
home in obscurity. Your lordship will not seek to burn us. We 
ask but toleration and our civil rights.' 
The Bishop shook his head. 

' Will he be allowed ?' he asked. ' Meantime, my lord, it does 
my heart good to see you — still a young man and an Englishman — 
no Frenchman— back again among your own people. Trust me, 
you will be happier here than at St. Germain s or Versailles. 
Believe an old man who was about the Court for nearly thirty 
years : it is an air which begetteth bad humours of the blood — 
with jealousies, envies, and heartburnings. He who waiteth upon 
Princes must expect rubs such as happen not to quiet men. And, 
young man,' he laid his hand upon the Earl's shoulder, ' listen not, 
I entreat you, to vapouring Irish captains or to Scotchmen disap- 
pointed of their pensions, or to soured English Papists, or to those 
who have waited in antechamber till rage has seized their heart. 
Let us remain on the right side. Some day it will prevail. On 
that day the voice of the whole country will call their Sovereign 
home. It may be that they will make him first embrace the faith 
as contained in the Thirty-nine Articles. Justice is mighty, and 
shall prevail. But, gentlemen, no plots ! And you, sir, as you are 
the nearest among us all to the throne, so be the most cautious. 
Set the young hot-heads of the north a good example. Gentlemen ' 
— he rose, tall and majestic, with white waving locks and stooping 
shoulders, and his wife rose at the same time and gave him her 
arm — ' my lords and gentlemen, Anglican or Catholic, whether of 
the old or the reformed faith, I give my prayers for the rightful 
cause, and to all here the blessing of a Bishop. Yea !' — he raised 
his tall figure to the full height, 'the blessing of one who is a 
successor of the Apostles by unbroken and lineal descent and right 
divine !' 

Lord Derwentwater bent a knee, and kissed the Bishop's hand. 
Then the company parted right and left, bowing low, while the oW 
Bishop, with his lady and her niepe, left the room. 



96 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

CHAPTER X. 

A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 

So, for prudence' sake, and for carefulness, and to avoid the 
charges of an open house, we remained at Blanchland until the 
New Year. 

Before her departure, Lady Crewe held a long and very serious 
talk with Tom, the nature of which I was not told at the time. 
For many days afterwards he was graver than was his wont, and 
talked much about his place in the county ; he reprimanded Mr. 
Hilyard, also, when he spoke of sport, for thinking of nothing 
more worthy his attention (whereas the poor man thought of sport 
not at all, save only to please his patron), and he made inquiry 
about the House of Commons, the duties and privileges of members, 
and how a gentleman may rise to eminence in that august assembly, 
from which I conjectured that some plan had been laid before him 
by my aunt., He spoke also of matrimony and of heiresses, saying 
that a man in his position, although his estates were embarrassed, 
might look as high as anyone, and that London was the place to 
find a rich gentlewoman — not Northumberland, where the families 
were so large and the times grown so peaceful that of heiresses 
there were none in the whole county. 

' Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I know little concerning the ways of 
the great, yet I have walked in St. James's Park and seen the ladies 
followed by the beaux, few of whom can be compared with your 
honour for comeliness and strength ; while there are many who cut 
a fine figure in the park and the theatre, yet have never an acre of 
land in all their family.' 

Tom was twenty-seven by this time, no longer in the first flush 
of manhood, but a handsome fellow still, though beginning a double 
chin and inclined to be corpulent. As regards the pursuit of an 
heiress, I never heard anything more about it, and conjecture that 
it was a part of her ladyship's advice offered, but not carried into 
practice. In matters of gallantry, our North-country gentlemen 
are sadly to seek — nor do the ladies expect it of them ; and an 
heiress and a fine lady of London would have so many beaux fol- 
lowing her, that a plain man would have very little chance, however 
good his family. 

Presently, Tom grew tired of keeping his own counsel, and 
therefore told us — I mean Mr. Hilyard as well as myself — all that 
had passed. Her ladyship was, he said, most gracious and kind. 
She assured him that the restoration of her own family to their 
lost wealth and former position was all that she now lived for, 
saving her obedience to her husband ; that she had no longer any 
hope of children, and that while Lord Crewe's Northamptonshira 
property would go to his own nephews, nieces, and cousins, he had 
most generously given to her the bestowal of the Northumberland 



A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 97 

property, winch slio was resolved upon bequeathing entire to hor 
dear nephew. 

This was good hearing indeed. But better was to follow. The 
Manor House was to be maintained as before, and a reasonable 
allowance was to be made to Tom out of the revenues of the estate. 
He was, therefore, once more master of Bamborough, and we might 
Btill sit in the chancel without feeling that we were usurping that 
place of honour. All was to be Tom's. 

Yet there were conditions — just and reasonable conditions I call 
them, and such as should have been accepted without a murmur. 
But men are so masterful, they brook not the thought of bridle or 
of rein. First, Tom was to remember that he was no longer a 
young man, and that such follies as sitting up all night drinking 
and singing in the company of young gentlemen whose expectations 
and fortunes were far below his own, should now cease ; that on 
the retirement of his father he was to become Knight of the Shire 
in his place ; that he was to go no more to races and matches where 
money is rashly and wickedly lost ; that he was to take unto him- 
self, in reasonable time, a wife of good stock and approved breeding ; 
and that, finally, as regards politics and the Party, he was to take 
no important step, at any time, without her ladyship's consent and 
approval. 

These conditions Tom accepted, yet grumbled at them. 

' Why,' he said, ' I am already seven-and-twenty, and am still to 
be in leading-strings. As for drinking, Heaven knows it is not once 
a month that we have a bout— is it, Tony ? Well, two or three 
times a,t most ; as for racing, if a gentleman have a good horse, why 
should he not back him for a few pounds ? Is one to be for ever 
counting up the pence and watching how they fly ? As for a wife, 
all in good time. When Dorothy marries, perhaps, or when— but 
Heaven sends wives.' 

'The conditions, sir, said Mr. Hilyard, 'appear to me such as 
your honour would do wrong to refuse, because they can never be 
enforced ; nor can her ladyship ascertain whether or no they have 
been obeyed, except as to the matter of Parliament, in which there 
can be no doubt that it would be greatly to your honour's interest 
to learn something of the affairs of the nation, if only with a view 
to those great offices and positions of State which will, doubtless, 
some day be forced upon you.' 

' Well,' Tom replied, ' it is something to have in the house one 
who can talk a man into anything. Why, Tony, if her ladyship 
ordered me a flogging at the cart's-tail, I warrant you would make 
it out to be very much in my interest.' 

We were not without company, especially in the autumn, for 
Hexhamshire and Allendale Commons abound with wild birds and 
game of all kinds : there are grouse, blackcock, partridge, bustard, 
wild-geese, ducks, water-rail, heron, peewit, teal, and snipe ; also 
for those who care to shoot them there are eagles, hawks, falcons, 
kestrel, and kite ; bo that if gentlemen came there was always at 



, 9 8 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

least game for the table, and lie who sits down to a coursed hare, a 
brace of partridges, a rabbit-pie, or from the farm a Michaelmas 
goo^e or fat capon, need not complain about his dinner. 

They came, therefore, across the moors for the sake of the sport, 
or for friendship with Tom, or to enjoy the singing and play-acting 
of the jester, or perhaps some of them — I know not — on account of 
myself. It is nigh upon thirty years ago. Alas ! the pleasant times 
are gone. Wherefore let me, without boastfulness, but with 
gratitude, remember the days of my youth, when men took pleasure 
in such beauty as had been granted to me. I could tell (but refrain, 
because this book is not about myself, but my brother) how Perry 
"Widdrington and Ned Swinburne quarrelled about me, and were 
like to fight — the foolish boys — as if running each other through 
the ribs would make a girl love either of them any the better. I 
had a deal to do with them : for, first their honour was concerned ; 
then they had said such words to each other as required, and would 
have, the shedding of blood ; next— they were old friends from 
childhood, and it was a shame for each to treat the other so — they 
would be revenged ; lastly, what right had either to interfere when 
it was plain that the other was in love with Dorothy ? 

I told these boys that they were a couple of fools ; that if they 
fought I would never speak with either of them again ; that as for 
their religion, they were undeserving the name of Christians, who 
must forgive one another ; and that, if they wanted further speech 
of me, they must immediately shake hands and be brothers again. 
At last they consented, and, with melancholy faces, shook hands 
upon it. Why they were sad over it I know not, because this hand- 
shaking saved the life of one and might have given the other a 
bride ; only that the lady, when their hands had been given, told 
them she was sorry, but she could take neither. So they went 
away glum, and would not forgive me for a long time. There was 
also young Tom Clavering, who gave much trouble, being more 
persistent than most, and had to be spoken to very plainly. I might 
certainly have married one of these young gentlemen ; but I know 
not how the family pot would have been kept boiling, or a roof 
kept over our heads, for they were all younger sons, with a poor 
forty pounds a year at most for all their portion, and the great 
family house to live in while they pleased ; and not one with any 
thought of bettering himself. Young men think that the pot is 
filled with wishing, and that love provides beef as well as kisses. 
They were brave and gallant boys ; much I loved to see their hearty 
faces and hear their merry laugh : but I could not regard them with 
the favour which they wanted, and for a very good reason — because 
there was another man who had already fired my heart, and inso- 
much that, beside him, all other men seemed small and mean. 

This, then, was the manner of our life at Blanchland, among tha 
rains which the old monks had left, and their melancholy ghosts. 
Rq/riatimes I, who was a,; atrong of limb and as well able to do a 
.•'ay'g muioU iu any, wyukl go with the gentlemen waea they went 



A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 99 

shooting. Pretty it is to watch the dogs put up the game — the 
giouse running in the cover, the swift whirr of the coveys, and the 
snipe with their quick flight and their thousand twistings and 
turnings, designed to deceive the huntsman and to escape his shot. 
Sometimes I would don riding-dress (but not coat, hat, and wig, as 
some ladies are reported to do nearer London), and ride with them 
after the fox, well pleased if, as often happened, Master Reynard 
escaped the hounds, putting the hounds off the scent by crossing a 
stream ; or, but this was seldom, I would get up early in the morn- 
ing, and go with them otter-hunting, which is too rough a sport for 
a girl and too cruel, with the fighting of the dogs and the killing of 
the poor brute at the end. After every party there wa3 the finish 
of the day, with the feast — rough and plenty — the flowing of small- 
ale, stout October, and whisky punch, and Mr. Hilyard always 
ready, after his first glass or two, to play Jack Merryman for the 
company ; and the Rev. Mr. Patten, if he was there, ready to bow 
low at every remark which my brother might make, and to say 
' Hush !' when he was going to speak, and to sigh when he had 
spoken as if Solomon himself had uttered out of his boundless 
wisdom another proverb. When the punch began to go round I 
withdrew. 

One of the most frequent visitors, as I have said already, was this 
Reverend Robert Patten, Vicar of Allenhead, for whom at the very 
outset I conceived a violent dislike. He came, I doubt not, partly 
in order to ingratiate himself with one who had two livings in his 
gift, and partly in order, if possible, to obtain a recommendation to 
the Bishop, and partly in order to get, at another's expense, as much 
drink as he could carry — and more. For my own part, I deplore 
the practice of taking too much wine, even among gentlemen, but 
in a clergyman it is truly scandalous. As for the enmity between 
Mr. Hilyard and this disgraceful minister, that by no means abated, 
but quite the contrary ; so that, after the formal greeting, they 
exchanged not a single word, both making as if the other were not 
present. 

At last I asked Mr. Hilyard for the cause of this bad blood 
between them. 

' It seems to me,' I said, ' that Mr. Patten, whom I confess I like 
not, is open to no other charge than that of drunkenness, which 
alone should not make him hateful in your eyes. We must not, Mr. 
Hilyard, judge our brethren too severely.' 

' It is true,' he said, ' that the sight of his sleek face and thick 
lips makes me angry, and sometimes almost beyond myself. Yet I 
pray, Miss Dorothy, that you hold me accused.' 

This I would not do, but pressed him to tell me aP, which he did 
after much hesitation. 

' A Christian must not bate his brethren,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' but 
he may, I suppose, regard him with contempt. It is with contempt 
that I look upon Bob Patten. Know, therefore, Miss Dorothy, that 
we were at Oxford together, a«d ot the same College. If I may 



ioo DOROTHY FORSTER. 

say it without vanity, my parts were tolerable ; but Bob was ever a 
dull dog. Had I not imitated the part of the Prodigal Son, I 
might now have been a grave and reverend Fellow — perhaps the 
Tutor.' 

He had already told me of his foolish conduct as regards the 
satire against one of his superiors. 

'Alas ! the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil are 
greater to some than to others. There are, I am sure, many men 
who are tempted by none of the things which drive some of us to 
madness. I am myself drawn as by strong ropes whenever I hear 
the sound of a fiddle, the clinking of a glass, and the voices of those 
who laugh ; if there is a church on one side of the street and a 
theatre on the other, I have no choice, but must needs go into the 
theatre. This was my ruin. Though I studied in the morning, I 
drank, and sang, and made verses in the evening. So I became 
known to the Proctors, and an object of suspicion.' 

' But what has this to do with Mr. Patten ?' 

' Creeping Bob neither sang (because his voice was like the 
grating of rusty nails upon a slate), nor drank (because no one 
would give him or trust him), nor made merry (having been born 
on the shady side of the street), nor offended Proctors and Tutors, 
hoping maybe, but in this he hath been mistaken, to make up for 
muddy wit by nice morality, and perhaps to get a Fellowship and a 
fat College living. This conduct made him deservedly popular with 
his fellows, and gained him the glorious title of Creeping Bob. As 
he was then, so is he now.' 

'But, Mr. Hilyard, ought the prejudice of youthful days to be 
considered sufficient cause for so great a contempt ?' 

' Nay — but there is more. For certain small natural gifts ' — he 
assumed an air of humility which was nothing in the world but 
pride in a vizard — ' which have been my plague ; namely, that I 
could make epigrams (yet Martial himself was always a dependent 
on patrons, and lived in poverty) and verses (poets are allowed to 
be a ragged race) and orations, whether in Latin or in English, and 
either in the comical or the serious vein, and could in half an hour 
write more and better to the point than dull-witted pates such as 
Bob can do in a year — I got a reputation, and was presently re- 
garded with terror by every Doctor of Divinity and reverend person 
in the University, because whatever was whispered of scandal, as of 
one grave Professor being earned home brimful of punch, and 
another — but these are old stories — suffice it that the next day there 
was dished up, hot and hot, such a course of verses, satires, epi- 
grams, and secret history as made the Fathers of the University 
tremble. And though they knew the hand which wrought these 
verses, they could not prove the fact. 

' Perhaps I had still escaped, but for a dastardly act of crowning 
treachery. For I had got safely to my third and last year, when I 
ought to have been presenting myself for a degree in Arts, with my 
string of syllogisms. Then, indeed, my life would have been dif- 



A TENDER CONSCIENCE. soi 

ferent ; instead of a servant — whose fetters, Miss Dorothy, vm 
have most generously covered with silk ' — he bowed low and his 
voice shook — ' I say, generously covered with the finest silk, so that 
they have not galled the limbs of him that wears them, I might 
have been now a great preacher, or a grave scholar, a credit to my 
father's care, and a monument and proof of answer to his prayers. 
Yet I lost all for the glory of a single set of verses.' 

I knew already that he had committed this great madness. It 
seems incredible that young men can be found so eager for applause 
that they will even stake the hazard of a life upon the laughter of 
an hour. But this Mr. Hilyard did. 

1 As for my oration at Commemoration, that,' he went on, 'might 
have been passed over, though there were angry threats uttered. 
Yet it was allowed that a better oration than mine had never been 
made by any Terras Filius in the memory of man. What did my 
business was a satire on the Vice- Chancellor, which the next day 
went about from College to College. There was no name to it, but 
everybody knew who wrote it. This gave them an excuse for 
bringing forward my speech before the Heads, and while cne wanted 
me to be forgiven, and another to write me for two years in the 
Black Book, and another to send me down altogether, lo you ! the 
President of my College settled the matter for me, for he lugged 
out of his pocket a letter in which the writer, whose name he with- 
held, said he felt moved by the extraordinary tenderness of his con- 
science to disclose the fact that the author of the satire was no other 
than Mr. Antony Hilyard, of his own College, and offered proof, 
not only as regarded the last production, but of every epigram and 
squib about which noise had been made for a whole twelvemonth. 
After that there was no more to do. They sent for me, the letter 
was read before my face, and I was expelled. The writer of the 
letter was no other than Creeping Bob. This the President himself 
afterwards told me. If I had been Aristides the Just they could 
not more unanimously have voted my expulsion.' 

This, then, was the reason of his animosity. Certainly, no on« 
can deny that it was a good and sufficient reason. 

' Doth Mr. Patten know ' 

' I believe he knows it not. Yet, he who has once injured a man 
always fears that man, and would injure him again if he could. 
There is a way in which he could do me another wrong. I doubt 
aot he will some day discover this method.' 

' But how can he hurt you now ?' 

' "When I was expelled, there was nothing for it but to run before 
my creditors in the town got wind of my misfortunes. It is ten 
years ago, but creditors never forget, and, were they to learn where 
to find me, a debtors' prison would be my lot. If Mr. Patten is so 
officious as to tell anyone in Oxford — well, at nineteen one is a fool, 
but sometimes folly is punished worse than crime. I had no right, 
being penniless, to have debts at all ; nor should I, the son of a 
vintner, have presumed to wear whit* linen, lace ruffles, and silver 



104 D0R07HY FOkSTER. 

buttons. Yet I did, trusting to pay when I was made a Fellow, as 
is the custom at the University. Wherefore I go daily in terror of 
the bailiffs, and at night lie down thinking that Newcastle Gaol ia 
my certain end.' 

' Surely, a minister of the Church would not ' 

1 Bob Patten would if he thought of it. As for the mischief 
which he tries to work between his honour and myself, there, indeed, 
I defy him.' 

So for the present the conversation came to an end. But I turned 
the matter over in my own mind, and watched the two. I saw that 
Mr. Patten still cast upon the man whom he had injured malignant 
scowls when he thought himself unobserved, and I found an oppor- 
tunity to converse privately with him as well. 

I began by asking him whether he had known Mr. Hilyard in 
former times. 

He confessed that their acquaintance was of old times, when they 
were young and at the same College together ; though, he added, 
they were never friends or of the same way of thinking. For which 
he piously thanked Heaven. 

Thereupon, I asked him further if there were anything, so far as 
he remembered, against the private character of Mr. Hilyard — other 
than might be alleged against any young man. 

Here Mr. Patten hesitated. Presently, he said that as regards 
character a great deal might be said ; but, indeed, a young man 
who was expelled the University for intolerable license, railing ac- 
cusations, exaggerated charges, and unspeakable disrespect towards 
his superiors, had need of all that could be said for him ; still, he 
would say nothing, only that, as he had reason to believe, there 
were many tradesmen of Oxford, honest creatures, who had trusted 
his word, and now would gladly know where Mr. Hilyard could be 
found. 

Upon this I stopped him short, and informed him in plain lan- 
guage that, as no one could tell these tradesmen except himself, he 
must understand, once and for all, that the favour of Mr. Forster, 
if he hoped anything from it, depended on his observing silence. 

4 Let there be,' I added, ' no letters of a " tender conscience," Mr. 
Patten' — at this he started and looked confused — l I say, let no 
letters of a " tender conscience " be written. Remember that. 
Should anything be done by Oxford people, it shall certainly be 
laid at your door, though, to be sure, a body would be sorry if a 
godly minister, such as yourself, should suffer from an injurious 
suspicion.' 

Mr. Patten, who had tarned first red and then pale, at mention 
of a letter of conscience, protested that he bore no malice towards 
Mr. Hilyard ; and that, so far as the Oxford people were concerned, 
he had nothing to make or meddle in the matter. 

Then I went farther. I said that Mr. Hilyard had now been in 
the family for a great many years ; that he had always shown him- 
self faithful, silent on occasion, aad honest ; that he was a gentle- 



A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 103 

man of most ingenious mind and great parts ; that not only Mr. 
Forster but also Lady Crewe entirely trusted him. Wherefore, if 
any distrust should arise in the minds of these, or either of these 
two, it could be none other than the work of a private enemy ; and 
I plainly bade Mr. Patten beware, lest, through any hostility of his 
own, he should cause such a distrust, because, in such a case, lie 
would have others besides Mr. Hilyard to encounter, and the truth 
should be wholly laid before the Bishop. 

He protested again that nothing was farther from his thoughts 
than to create any such mischief ; that he was a man who loved 
peace and friendship, and so forth. But he looked angry and 
troubled, his fat lips shook, and his small pig-like eyes winked. 

Enough of this villain for the present. 

CHAPTER XI. 

DAPHNE. 

I have not yet spoken of our most honoured visitors, the three 
Eadcliffe brothers. They all came often, but the eldest most often. 
The reason of his coming you shall presently discover. As for all 
the three, though they conformed to our customs, and especially in 
the hospitality for which the north is famous (to the destruction of 
many a fine estate), they loved not to sit long over their wine, and 
left the table when the night was yet young, and the bottle but just 
beginning. The example of Lord Derwentwater's manner shamed 
our young gentlemen of their rusticity, though it drove them not 
from the whisky punch. Thus Tom, for instance, began to take 
part in discourse which was serious and grave, as ladies like it. 
With the assistance of Mr. Hilyard amd my lord, we held a great 
man;* conversations on those curious matters — theological, philo- 
sophical, scientific, and so forth — which do most concern the soul. 
To recall some of these old conversations of a happy time, the 
question was once argued by us whether Abraham was not the first 
institutor of public schools ; and again, why the Fallen Angel is 
called alike the Son of the Morning and the Prince of D.t: icness ; 
and another, whether a good painter may not draw a face better 
and more beautiful than any yet made ; and whether it is right for 
a good patriot, who loves his country, and should desiro to beget 
children for its defence, to become a monk or a nun ; whether eyes 
or tongue help most to love ; why a wet sheet tied round a cask 
prevents the liquor from freezing in the hardest weather ; whether 
the fall of Locifer was the occasion of the creation of the world ; 
what is the best argument to prove the existence of God ; whether 
the death-watch gives a long or short notice ; why Alexander called 
his horse Bucephalus ; how the flying of kites may be improved to 
the public advantage ; why fish taken from the salt sea taste fresh ; 
what sort of Government is best ? who are Gog and Magog '' why 
the stork is never found except in a .Republic ; who was the father 



104 DOROTHY FORStER. 

of Louis XIV. ? whether the best times are already past, or ftM yet 
to come — with many other questions and curious problems, invented 
or found for us by Mr. Hilyard, who enriched every discussion with 
so great a flow of learning as astonished those able to follow and 
understand him. It was pleasing at these times to observe the 
shamefacedness of those gallant boys, Perry Widdrington and Ned 
Swinburne ; how they listened, and pretended to be regarding the 
speaker and his manner of dealing with the subject in hand ; and 
how, presently, they either fell asleep or stole gently away, and so 
to their tobacco and October. 

' My lord,' said Tom, ' is a gentleman of the finest breeding ; yet, 
hang it, he won't drink ! He can ride with the best, and shoot 
with the best — pity that so strong a man should have a head so 
weak.' 

In Paris,' I replied, 'it is, happily, not the fashion for gentle- 
men to drink.' 

'Na — na. Fashion — fashion! we gentlemen of the north care 
nothing for fashion. Drinking will never go out of fashion in this 
country. A man ought to sit with the company and see the bottle 
out, not to get up with a " By your leave, gentlemen," and so off to 
the women before the toast goes round half-a-dozen times. Let me 
tell you, sister, my lord and his brothers will never be truly popular 
till they learn to take their glasses about with the rest.' 

Tom was wrong, because the Earl's good heart made him every- 
where beloved. It is better, methinks, to cany all hearts by 
generosity and virtue than to bo popular in a company of gentle 
men for strength of head, like any Timothy Tosspot. Why, Mr. 
Hilyard was popular among those who knew nothing of his scholar- 
ship and fine qualities, because he was never known to fall under 
the table while there was another man still sitting up. Any brewer's 
man may become popular for the same cause. 

' My Lord Derwentwater,' said Mr. Hilyard himself, who was not, 
in spite of his own practice, a respecter of those who love strong 
drink — see how men can admire virtue, and even love her, yet still 
practise what they despise ! ' My lord is all goodness, I think. He 
reads books ; he hath received a liberal education from the Jesuit 
Fathers, and can quote from Tully, the Mantuan, and even the 
great Epicurean poet. It is long, indeed, since so great a nobleman 
was also so good a scholar. At the University of Oxford, alas ! the 
sons of gentlemen and noblemen are encouraged to pass their time 
in any pursuit rather than reading. And in Northumberland the 
gentlemen have been too busy, until late years, upon their Border 
frays to regard learning greatly. My lord is truly a Phoenix among 
them. Pity that he still adheres to the old religion. Faith, Miss 
Dorothy, may surpass reason, but must not oppose it. Yet, as hath 
been well observed, religion lieth not so much in the understanding 
as in the practice.' 

Thus it happened that on many occasions my lord would leave 
the gentlemen over their cups and sit with me, conversing on all 



DAPHNE. 105 

kinds of subjects, such as his relations with the Prince, his life in 
Paris, and his projects for the future. He opened up his mind to 
me in such a way as only a young man, in the society of a woman 
whom he trusts, can open his mind. I may truly say that I found 
him always inclined to good works, of the most benevolent disposi- 
tion, and full of kindness, without any meanness, vice, or blemish 
in his character. Why do I s«y these things ? His nobleness is so 
well known that for me to add my testimony is but like carrying 
coals to Newcastle. One thing I learned very plainly, that my lord, 
though of so great a name and estate, desired nothing in the world 
so much as to remain in ease and retirement ; to be what his great- 
grandfather had been (there is no happier lot in the world), a plain 
country gentleman, and so to live and die. Yet with such loyalty 
that he knew well, and acknowledged, that when the Prince's fol- 
lowers made a serious effort, he too, at risk of all, must arise and 
go with them. Wherefore he prayed daily that the voice of the 
nation might pronounce — yea, shout loudly — for the Prince, so that 
a restoration, not a rebellion, might follow. But for vapouring 
conspirators he had no patience, and to such he would never listen. 

' It gives me pleasure,' he said (so kindly was his heart), ' to con- 
verse with you, fair Miss Dorothy ; nowhere else do I find so kind 
a listener. For if I talk with my brother Frank, he presently flies 
into a rage at the country's treatment of Catholics ; and if to my 
aunts, they reproach me for lukewarmness towards the Church, 
whereas, Heaven knows — but that may pass ; and if to your brother, 
he falls into his cups, and then he may say one knows not what. 
There is wisdom in your face— which I have made to blush— for- 
give me. Dorothy," he whispered, ' have your lovers never written 
any verses on your blushing cheeks ?' 

I told him that gentlemen in Northumberland do not make verses 
on ladies at all. 

Afterwards I told this pretty compliment (which was made with 
all respect) to Mr. Hilyard, who laughed, and said that it was high 
time for the Muses to exchange Parnassus for the Cheviot, or for 
Spindleston Heugh at least. 

Then my lord began to tell me of tte ways in Paris, and how the 
ladies were called by names other than their own, sometimes a name 
made by an anagram, and sometimes by a name taken from classical 
story. 

'As for you,' he said, 'you should be called Daphne, after the 
nymph who was turned into a laurel. Daphne or Dorothy, which 
may I call you ?' 

We were walking along the south bank of the stream, where it 
rises in a hill, and is covered with hanging woods. Tom was gone 
a-shooting, and, though it was late in the year, the yellow leaves were 
still upon the trees, and there were flowers yet among the grass. 

'Daphne, or Dorothy — which?' 

' Oh ! my lord, I am a plain country girl, and know not the 
language of gallantry.' 



106 DOROTHY PORSTER. 

' Heavens !' he replied. ' If such a face could be seen in the land 
where this language is talked ! But that, fair Daphne, is impos- 
sible. The French ladies are gracieuses, but they have not the 
beautiful face and figure of our Englishwomen, any more than 
their country has the charms of this, which is surely the garden of 
all the world.' 

Could any woman hear such things said to her for the first time, 
and by a man so young, so handsome, and so noble, and not lose her 
heart? Why, I am proud to think that this divine young man 
made love to me ; it makes me happy to remember it. I confess 
that I was ready to give him my hand and my heart. I should be 
ashamed of myself now if I had not been ready, because it would 
argue a head so insensible that a negro of New Guinea would scorn. 
And yet, whether I be believed or no, I declare that I had no 
thought of securing a coronet and a great estate. This was so. I 
was a simple country girl, but of an honourable house ; a Radcliffe 
could do a Forster no honour by marrying her. I was unused to 
the polite world, ignorant of courts, and untrained in arts of 
coquetry. Again, I had no knowledge of a woman's power, nor 
could I lure a man ; nor did I know aught of the strength and 
passion of love, jealousy, or rivalry, save for the things Mr. Hilyard 
read tome out of Ovid — such as the stories of Cephalus and Procris, 
Hero and Leander, Sappho and Phaon. It was by no arts of mine 
that my lord was attracted to my side. Yet a woman is not a stock 
or a stone ; and when I saw that he loved me — why, truly, I need 
say no more. 

Some days after he called me Daphne I found lying on my table, 
written in a feigned hand, a copy of most beautiful verses. Who 
could doubt the poet ? 

' Like apple-blossom, white and red ; 

Like hues of dawn, which fly too soon ; 
Like bloom of peach, so softly spread ; 

Like thorn of May and rose of June— 
Oh, sweet ! oh, fair ! beyond compare, 

Are Daphne's cheeks, 
Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. 
'That pretty rose, which comes and goes, 
Like April sunshine in the sky, 
I can command it when I choose — 

See how it rises if I cry, 
Oh, sweet ! oh, fair ! beyond compare, 

Are Daphne's cheeks, 
Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. 
•Ah ! when it lies round lips and eyes, 
And fades away, again to spring, 
No lover, sure, could ask for more 

Than still to cry, and still to sing : 
Oh, sweet ! oh, fair ! beyond compare, 

Are Daphne's cheeks, 
Arc Daphne's blushing cheekH, I swear. 



DAPHNE. 107 

Never, sure, were verses more beautiful. I read them again and 
again. I took them to bed with me, just as a little maid takes het 
doll with her. I knew them all by heart, and blushed — 

' That pretty rose which comes and goes, 
Like April sunshine in the sky ' — 

whenever I said them to myse'f. Who could have written them 
but my lord ? I waited for his next visit, and showed the lines to 
him, thinking he would have confessed. Ah! the pretender ! He 
read them with an air of astonishment so natural that it might have 
imposed upon any, so that I did not dare charge him with what he 
was too modest to acknowledge. 

' Daphne,' he said, ' they are pretty verses indeed. I would 1 
could find such rhymes to fit my thoughts. Prior himself hath 
never written better. Alas ! why am I not a poet ?' 

So he read them again, and when he read the last lines, 

' Oh, sweet ! oh, fair ! beyond compare, 
Are Daphne's cheeks, 
Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear,' 

he stooped and kissed my hand, saying : 

' Ah ! Dorothy, are there in all the world cheeks more sweet than 
thine?' 

Thus we talked, and in such sweet discourse the days passed by. 
I have sometimes wondered whether Tom suspected that, while he 
was tramping the moors, fowling-piece in hand, Lord Derwentwater 
was turning his sister's head with compliments, and stealing away 
her heart. Mr. Hilyard knew and witnessed all, but I understand 
not why he grew every day more gloomy, insomuch that Tom 
declared he now wanted six glasses of punch at least before he 
became moderately cheerful. Why should he not, since he pro- 
tested so much affection for me, be the happier for my happiness ? 
And why should he, when I went singing, go with his head hanging ? 
He ought, further, to have been happy because Lord Derwentwater 
noticed him kindly, condescended to ask his opinion on many 
matters of importance, and listened gravely to his conversation. 

' Such a man,' he said, ' would in France be a poet and wit in the 
service of some great lord, or he would be a hanger-on of ladies' 
salons and ruelles, making verses for them, writing operas and 
comedies. He would be admitted to the suppers of princes, where 
he would sing and recite and play a thousand monkey tricks. He 
would be just such a man as Boisrobert, the favourite of the 
Cardinal fifty years ago, or Benserade, or Voiture, or any of them. 
He would be an abbe at least, and presently would get something, 
a canonry, a prebend's stall, or even a parish. What can such a 
man do in England ?' 

Such a man might, Mr. Hilyard himself told me, go to London, 
find a patron, write plays, and perhaps obtain a place or he might 
be the starving wit of a coffee-house, the hack of a publisher, and 
die in a garret. 



io8 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' It is melancholy,' Lord Derwentwater continued, ' to see so fin« 
a scholar thus wasted and thrown away. ' Not,' he added, ' that 
any man can be thrown away to whom it is allowed to sit daily in 
your presence and to hear your voice. But a man of such vast read- 
ing, with a memory so prodigious, should have climbed high up the 
ladder by now. He should be a Court Chaplain, or a Dean ; whereas 
what is the poor man but a Jack Pudding in the evening and a 
steward in the morning ? A play-actor need not know Greek nor a 
steward Hebrew. And when Tom Forster marries — what ?' 

' Mr. Hilyard will always have one friend,' I said. l Who loves 
me must love him too.' 

' I would love an ape for your sake,' he replied. ' Therefore I 
find it easy to love this ingenious gentleman and unfortunate 
scholar.' 

So, one day, I ventured to ask the poor man why he grew so 
melancholy. 

He said, first of all, that he was not melancholy, but brimful of 
spirits and joy, to prove which he heaved a deep sigh. 

' Nay,' I said, ' but I know the contrary. Tell me — why, surely 
you, to whom I owe so much gratitude, cannot think I am careless 
of your concerns. Tell me, dear friend, if it is anything I can help.' 

' It is nothing that you can help,' he said. 'I am, in truth, the 
most ungrateful dog in the world not to be jumping about and 
singing all day to give you pleasure ;' and yet here he fetched 
another sigh. ' I think of the future, when you will go and I 
remain. But since you will be happy, what matters it for me ?' 

' Oh, Mr. Hilyard ! I could not be happy if you were miserable. 
We have been companions so long. Do you think I could ever 
forget your readings and your talk, from which I have learned all 
I know ? Nay — but let me whisper one thing. See — there is one 
who — who — pretends to find pleasure in my society. He knows 
very well that he who loves me must love my Mr. Hilyard as well.' 

Mr. Hilyard hath a heart full of sensibility. He bowed and kissed 
my hand, and said nothing. But tears were ranning down bis 
cheeks. 

CHAPTER XII. 

FRANK KADCLIFFE. 

Ttte second of the brothers came seldom. He was a grave lad : he 
neither laughed nor made merry, nor rode a-hunting like his two 
brothers. In figure he was the tallest of the three ; but stooped in 
walking, so that he seemed the shortest. He was possessed of a 
strange melancholy, of which he was never quite free, although 
sometimes he would seem to shake it off and talk bravely for a 
while. He was like his uncle, Colonel Thomas RadclifTe, in his 
temperament, being as moody and as full of strange fancies. 
'It is a disease,' said Mr. Hilyard, speaking of Francis Radcliffe's 



FRANK RADCLIFFE. tog 

melancholia, 'for •which there is no known remedy, while the causes 
are subtle and manifold. The patients are subject to strange fancies 
and illusions ; some have thought themselves made of glass and 
others of feathers ; some are held down with fears, and others in- 
flated like bladders with wild hopes ; some suffer the curse of 
Apuleius, in that dead men's bones are always held before them : a 
strange disease indeed. Yet melancholy men, as Aristotle insisteth, 
are often witty.' 

Mr. Hilyard, therefore, regarded this young gentleman with a 
peculiar curiosity, and loved nothing so much as to talk with him 
and learn his thoughts. First of all he discovered that this boy was 
strangely given to the study of all books which he could find upon 
the unseen world, such as books on oracles, conjuring, of spirits, 
predictions, astrology, and so forth. On meeting encouragement he 
opened his mind to Mr. Hilyard and took counsel with him. There 
was no subject in the world, I believe, in which our most ingenious 
Oxford scholar was not versed. Therefore Frank learned from him 
how to conjure spirits, raise the dead, cast nativities, and so forth, 
and that is to say, all that books can teach. 

' Which is,' Mr. Hilyard said, ' everything except the essential. 
I mean, Mr. Radcliffe, that you may question the stars, but you 
must read their answer yourself, because they are silent ; and you 
may question the dead — these books tell you how— but I doubt if 
they will reply.' 

Nevertheless they began to amuse themselves with casting horo- 
scopes and nativities, erecting celestial figures and the houses of 
heaven ; Mr. Hilyard all the time protesting that the thing was a 
foolish invention, and useful only in that it taught something of the 
planetary courses. Yet he, like his pupil, watched anxiously for 
the event ; and when, not in one case only, that of Frank himself, 
but also of the Earl and my brother Tom, the future which they 
hoped to find lovely and fortunate came out gloomy and threaten- 
ing, all the signs menacing, Mr. Hilyard became terrified and would 
have no more of it, saying that though it was a vain thing, yet to 
continue in it might be the sin of tempting Providence, such as that 
committed by Saul ; and that as for him, he would ask of the stars 
no more. Now if the future they had seen in this mirror of coming 
time had been bright and happy, would they have ceased to inquire ? 
I think not ; and strange it is that this thing which so many learned 
men and philosophers teach us to despise, is yet on occasion believed 
in even by themselves. 

We had many conversations upon these subjects, which, like the 
tales of ghosts, are always curious to people of every age and rank. 
Mr. Hilyard, after speaking of the practice among the ancients, one 
day discoursed upon the common and vulgar methods practised by 
people in all countries and in times ancient and modern. 

' Some, for instance,' he said, ' look in a magic ball of glass, when 
they see not only the future but also the present, and what is being 
done ia far countries. Others fill a basin with, water, and behold 



no DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the same as in a mirror. O Mi era rend (lie fu'nre by dreams, and 
others by cards ; while by the flight and nirnber of birds, the cow- 
ing of cocks, the first words heard in the morning, the luck of the 
day is determined. Some have placed barley on the letters of the 
alphabet, and noted the order in which a fowl will pick up the ears.' 

'My maid Jenny,' I said, 'reads fortunes by the hand.' 

' It is palmistry,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' and a most curious art, 
though, like the rest, it is vain and useless ; while, it hath been 
held by some, the Lord hath stamped the future of man upon every 
feature, so that, if we could learn it, we might read in the curve of 
an eyebrow, the lines of the lips, the turn of the chin, a sure an<? 
certain prognostic of what will happen to us before we die. With 
your permission, Miss Dorothy, we will examine the girl in this 
matter.' 

Jenny was called, and I asked her first to read my hand. She 
replied, looking ashamed, that she had read it many times ; but 
when I commanded her to tell me what she saw there, she hesitated 
and changed colour, and then replied, like a gipsy at a fair when 
you cross her hand with a groat, that there was a fair young gentle- 
man of a great estate, and that she saw a wedding-ring and happi- 
ness as long as a summer day, with beautiful children. But it was 
manifest that she said what she thought would please me. Then 
Mr. Hilyard bade her look at Mr. Frank's hand, into which she 
peered iong and with a strange curiosity. After a while she 
dropped his hand, and turned to Mr. Hilyard, saying : 

' Now yours, sir,' and read it glibly as if from a book, saying, 
' The line of life is long, but the course of love is crossed. There 
is wealth for you, and honour ; but no wife and no children. No 
one hath everything.' 

' But mine,' cried Frank, — ' what is mine ?' 

But she replied not, running away. When afterwards T rebuked 
her, she acknowledged that she could not tell him what she read, so 
bad and unlucky it was. She also told me that her grandmother, the 
old gipsy woman of whom I have spoken, had also told the forlune 
of Mr. Frank by cards, and that it came the same as her own telling, 
which made me marvel. 

'Ask no more,' said Mr. Hilyard ; ' and yon, girl, keep these things 
to yourself, else the people will get strange notions into their heads.' 

The people had already got into their heads strange notions. First 
this girl of mine had filled the place with the terror of the ghosts 
she saw. Next it was said that she was a witch, and ought to be 
thrown into a pond. Perhaps that would have been done, but for 
fear of us. Then it was said that she had bev/itched a certain young 
fellow of the place named Job Oliver, a hind. They told Mr. Hil- 
yard that Job would do whatever foolish things Jenny told him to 
do ; that he would sometimes rise when she was not in the oompany, 
and say that Jenny called him, and so go to her ; that he looked not 
as he was wont to look, but went about Witt) eyes distracted and. 
trembling bands. 



FRANK RADCL1FFE. in 

* She is a witch,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' just as all women are witches ; 
aud she hath bewitched this foolish lad. But the only arts, I think, 
are those which she practises in common with all her sex, namely, 
her eyes and her face. In a word, the fellow is in love.' 

I spoke to her on the subject, and she confessed, though she 
looked confused, that it was as Mr. Hilyard said, and that if the 
man chose to be in love with her she could not help it ; perhaps he 
did and said foolish things, but she could not help that either ; and 
he must do what he pleased. The girl was saucy about it, but yet 
one could not reprove her, because it makes every woman saucy and 
self-conceited, when a man is in love with her. When she crossed 
the quadrangle or entered any of their houses, the people looked 
askance and put thumb in fingers, but yet were monstrous civil, 
because they feared her. Witch or not, she did none of them any 
harm (I do not believe that a pig which died at this time was over- 
looked by her, though this was charged upon her). As for Job, 
after we went away he presently recovered, looked about him, 
became once more a cheerful wight, forgot his enchantress, and 
married another woman, who made him happy in such sort as rustics 
understand happiness ; that is to say, every year a thumping boy or 
girl, and every Sunday a great dish of fat bacon. And as for Jenny 
herself, she paid no heed to what was thought, but went about with 
an impudent answer for all except her mistress, and a saucy laugh, 
and singing as she went, as if there was no such thing in the world 
at all as witchcraft, and she had no powers and gifts above those 
generally conferred upon young maids — namely, the bewitching of 
eyes and face, soft speech, and lovely limbs. Yet all the time a 
deceitful hussy. I knew not then, though I learned afterwards, that 
she met Frank Radcliffe secretly, and taught him, I believe, her arts 
of prediction, and even sent him to see her wicked old grandmother 
(who I am quite sure was another Witch of Endor), when the camp 
came once to Hexham. What they told him, between them, I know 
not ; but in the end it became manifest what a gipsy woman can do 
when a young gentleman is foolish enough to listen to her wiles. 

Not knowing these things, I begged Frank to give up this pursuit 
of his, as a useless, idle, and curious practice. He acknowledged 
that the priest gave him similar admonition, but yet that he con- 
tinued, though he knew that he was wrong. Religion forbids it, 
that is most sure ; if the art were sure and certain, he is foolish, 
indeed, who seeks to know the coming misery, or anticipates the 
coming happiness. Let us only live in the present, looking forward 
with sure and certain hope to the life where there will be no shed- 
ding of tears or thought of trouble. Why could not Frank let the 
future alone ? The present, which he spoiled by this curiosity, 
should have been to him full of happiness, because he had everything 
that the world has to give — youth, health, strength, riches, and a 
good heart. What more doth God give to any ? 

1 Why,' said Frank, ' what am I to do ? There is nothing ip this 
country for a Catholic gentleman to do, We may not hold co'orai8» 



na DOROTHY FORSTER. 

sions in the army ; we cannot act as magistrates ; wo cannot enter 
the Universities ; we cannot go into Parliament ; we can hold no 
office, and are cut off from all employment. What wonder if some 
of us sit down to drink and hunt, and nothing more ? Why should 
the country be afraid of a handful of gentlemen who have kept theit 
old faith ? 

Truly it was a hard case ; yet what to do ? We must not have 
the Pope's subjects in our Houses of Parliament. 

' Well,' he went on, ' what am I to do with myself ? I am a 
younger son, with a younger son's portion — enough, but not great 
riches. You have shut up all the doors ; you treat us with 
suspicion and contempt ; you call us Papists. I knew not till we 
came home how despised a creature is an English Catholic' 

' Nay,' I said, for the young man had worked himself into a 
passion, and the tears were in his eyes, 'you have but to ride 
through any village in Northumberland to see the contempt with 
which a Radcliffe is regarded. Fie, Master Frank ! you have been 
abroad so long that you know not the English heart. It may be, 
as you say, that the Catholics are excluded from civil rights. Is it 
not because it is believed that you love Pope first and King second ? 
But it cannot be that there is nothing for you to do.' 

' Oh yes,' he said bitterly, ' there is always something. I may go 
to Douay, and so presently come back with shaven crown, and even 
be made some day, if I am fortunate, a Bishop in parlibus.' 

All this was true. There were here three brothers rich in gifts 
and graces. The eldest should have been a great statesman, the 
second a great scholar, and the third a soldier. 

Yet because their grandfather chose to remain in the old religion, 
when the people were ordered to change for the new (because it is 
foolish to suppose that all the country gentlemen and the very 
rustics and hinds had wit and learning wherewith to argue for or 
against the faith), they were all condemned to idleness. Wherefore 
the eldest, who had the estates, the wealth, and the power, resolved 
on spending his life in good works, and the advancement of the 
poor committed to his trust ; and the second became melancholy, 
and troubled himself about things hidden from mankind ; and this 
third — he was only a boy as yet — wa3 going to become a beau, and 
to follow all the pleasures of the town. Why, what a waste of 
gifts was here ! And all for the Mass which stood between. 

'As for my lord,' said Tom, 'he is very well. He rides as 
straight as can be expected. His shooting will improve, and no 
doubt he will learn to put his money on matches and fights, though 
at present he cares little about such sport. And as for Charles, it 
is a promising boy and well-plucked. But as for Frank, he does 
nothing at all ; he will neither laugh, nor sing, nor drink, nor hunt 
— what is to be done with him V Tony, he loves your company. 
Can you make nothing of him? Can you not even make him 
drink ?' 

' Indeed, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' the English law opens to • 



FRANK RADCLIFFE. U3 

young gentleman who is a Papist no opportunity at all for distinc- 
tion. He must therefore either be made a priest or remain a 
sportsman. He has his choice between a saint and a cock-fighter. 
Mr. Frank, though born to be a scholar, has little calling to the 
saintly profession, and none at all for cock-fighting. So that unless 
he changes his disposition or his creed, he is likely to remain in his 
present melancholy. 

' As for the cure of melancholy,' Mr. Hilyard went on, ' there 
are many things enumerated by the learned Burton. Borage, for 
instance, or bugloss, of which Helena's famous bowl was made, 
after drinking which she felt no grief or remorse ; marigold, put 
into broth ; hop, which may be infused into ale, and taken by 
melancholy men with advantage ; betony, the root of which is 
sovereign for the causing of mirth ; penny-royal, wormwood, and 
other herbs, any of which may be taken by Mr. Francis without 
fear.' 

1 Give him,' said Tom, ' a bowl of punch after a day's hunting ; 
make him dance after a pretty woman. A fig for all your herbs, 
and broths, and messes, Tony ! Betony for the causing of mirth ! 
Why, then, to-night, instead of whisky punch you may have a mess 
of betony.' 

But Frank Radcliffe's case was beyond the reach of herbs, ana 
not even a bowl of punch would help — partly because he could not 
drink punch. 

I spoke about him to my lord, who owned that he could do 
nothing for his brother. 

' There is among us a strain of melancholy. My uncle, Thomas 
Radcliffe, hath it, and cannot be cured, though he wears a chalcedony 
in a ring, and hath taken medicines of all kinds, both simple and 
mineral, yet none to cure him. I doubt not Frank will be like 
him. Yet it is a good sign that he sometimes leaves the library to 
come here. The law, of which he justly complains, is hard upon 
us all. Yet we cannot alter it by crying. The Jesuit Fathers 
made of him a great scholar, and wanted to make him one of them- 
selves, and in the end a priest — nay, perhaps a Bishop, or even a 
Cardinal. Higher than that one need not look unless one is an 
Italian, when the Triple Crown itself of Christ's Vicar on earth is 
possible. It is long since we had a Bishop in the family, and a 
Cardinal never. But if Frank will not, he must content himself 
with having such amusements as he can find for himself which will 
please a simple scholar and a private gentleman. He will grow 
wiser and merrier in time as he grows older. Meantime, we are 
as yet strangers in the country, and have much to learn. For the 
people are not like the people whence we have come ; the gentle- 
men are not like those at St. Germain's ; the ladies are not like 
those my mother (who hath never seen the north) taught me to 
expect — namely, hoops and patches and courtesies and fine sayings, 
instead of Arcadian shepherdesses, and the charms of Nature— and 
fair Dorothy. 

8 



H4 DOROTHY FORS TER. 

Alas! To think that the melancholy of this unhappy young 
gentleman was caused by so bumble and insignificant a person as 
my maid Jenny. Yet, strange as it seems there is, in fact, no 
person in the world so humble and so insignificant — not even a 
shepherd boy, a hind, a stable help, a scullion — bat he can do 
mis'-hief. The story how one -vis so desi"ous to achieve fame and 
so helpless by himself, bi'ing dull of understanding and unlearned, 
that he was fain to fire and destroy the noblest temple in Asia 
Minor, the ruins of which remain to this day, and have been seen 
by travellers, is, 1 thins, an allegory. 

CHAPTER XITL 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Now I come to tell of a fortnight of so much happiness that T can 
never forget it, or tire of remembering it. Every day — nay. every 
hour of that happy time, lives still in my mind, though it is now 
nearly thirty years ago, and I, who was then eighteen, am now 
well-niffh fifty, and am no more beautiful. This matters not, and 
before long, if it please merciful Heaven, I shall be beautiful again. 
This time was so happy to me because it changed an admirer into a 
lover, and a woman who waits for love into a woman who has 
received love. Call me not an old maid, I pray you, though I am 
no wedded wife and mother of a husband's children, because 1 have 
enjoyed the love of a man and exchanged with him those sweet 
endearments which are innocent and lawful between a young man 
and a maid who love each other. She alone is an old maid who 
hath never been wooed ; into whose eyes no lover hath gazed to 
rob her of her heart ; whose hands have never been pressed ; whose 
ears have never listened to the fond exaggerations with which a 
lover pleads his passion, and tries to tell how great and deep it is, 
though words fail. But, as for me, I have been loved by many, 
and I have loved one — yea, I have loved him— alas ! alas ! — with 
all my heart and with all my soul ; yet, I hope and pray, with 
innocency of heart, so that this my passion may not be laid to my 
charge, for though I loved him well, I loved, or tried to love, my 
God better. And this, too, I will show you. 

The time was Christmas My lord kept open house at DiMon 
for his friends and cousins, as many as chose to come (but he 
invited Tom and me) ; his farmers and tenants, and all the poor 
people around, even counting those of Hexham, so generous he was. 
During all the time from Christmas to Candlemas there was nothing 
but the roasting of beef and the eating of it, with the drinking of 
ale and everyday amusements such as men of all sorts and conditions 
love : as quarterstaff, cudgels, wrestling, fighting with dogs and 
cocks, and so forth ; the peop'e of the town flocking to see it — the 
gentlemen not ashamed of getting a bloody crown from a rustic 
champion ; the rustics proud to prove their mettle beiore the gen- 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 115 

tlemen, and pleased to drink to them afterwards. A busy and 
lively time — the maids running about to see the shows, and more 
eager to witness a wrestling-match than to do the dairy work ; the 
grooms talking and playing with the girls, and no one reproaching 
them ; no one zealous for work but the cooks and serving-women, 
who had a hard time of it, poor souls, continually roasting, boiling, 
laying of cloths, bringing of meat, carving it for hungry men, 
carrying pails of beer and pouring it out into the brown jugs with 
their great heads of foam. Yet none grumbled : the more they 
served the merrier they became. Cooks are only happy when they 
are at work ; between whiles they are irritable, short of temper, 
and grumbling at the hardships of their lots and the shortcomings 
of scullions. But when they are bending over stew-pots and 
griddles, they are truly happy. Perhaps a sense of the blessings of 
plenty at such times is felt by their souls, so that, in a way we 
little regard, they may be lifted upward by the contemplation of a 
rib or sirloin, with fat and lean in goodly show. I have seen a 
cook gaze upon a leg of mutton with tears in her eyes, as one who 
hears a sweet strain of music, or considers the picture of a handsome 
man. 

A girl who goes on a visit to so grand a house as Dilston, among 
ladies who have lived in London and gentlemen who know the 
splendours of a Court, is naturally troubled about her clothes, and 
thinks a great deal beforehand of the fine things she has to shtjw. 
It would have gone hard with me, whose frocks were all of country- 
make and most of rough and cheap material (my petticoats for 
daily wear of homespun), but for the late visit of Lady Crewe. 
For I had no pin-money of my own, or any allowance from my 
father, who considered that I now belonged to Tom and her lady- 
ship. Fortunately I am clever with my needle, and so was my 
maid Jenny. Tom, poor fellow, had no money to give, because he 
soent it ail in his amusements ; all, that is, which he got from 
Durham. Besides, most men, though they are careful about their 
flowered waistcoats and gold bwckles, seem to think that for women 
brocade grows wild on every hedge, and satin hangs in rolls from 
every tree. Now before she went away Lady Crewe called me to 
her room, and then, after causing me to be measured (which showed 
that we were both of a height), she brought out a great parcel of 
fine things — treasures, they seemed to me — saying kindly : 

' Child, the granddaughter of Sir William Forster, of Bam- 
borough, should be able to go as fine as her neighbours. Since thy 
brother loves to have thee with him, it shall be the care of thy 
mother's sister to see thee dressed becomingly on occasion, so that 
no one, gentle or simple, may think that a Forster is not as good a 
lady as any in the county.' 

Had it not been for this munificent gift, which came in pudding- 
time, so to speak, I should have gone to Dilston crying instead of 
laughing, because my petticoats were so short and my best frock so 
shabby. Alas! we grow old, and fins things, which once set oil' 

8 — 2 



1 1 6 DO ROTH V FORS TER. 

rosy cheeks and bright eyes, only serve now to hide the ravages of 
time. 

So that, thanks to the kindness of Lady Crewe, I could reflect 
without dismay upon the grand dresses of the ladies Katharine and 
Mary ; and though the day on which we rode across the dark moor 
to Dilston was so cold, with a driving sleet and a bitter wind, that 
my horse was led and my face kept covered with a hood, my heart 
was quite warm when I remembered that on one of the pack-horses 
behind (I was fain to brave the blast in order to look back and see 
that the animal had not been blown away) were safely packed my 
silk-quilted petticoat, altered to fit my waist, and none could tell 
that it was not new ; my French girdle, very pretty ; my sable 
tippet lined with Italian lute-string ; my velvet frock, made for 
Lady Crewe in London by a Court dressmaker, and very cunningly 
altered for me by Jenny — that girl should have made her fortune 
in dressmaking ; my cambric and laced handkerchiefs, laced tuckers 
and ruffles, French kid gloves very fine (Tom gave me these, having 
bought them at Newcastle one day when he rode and won a match 
of twenty pounds a side) ; my satin apron ; my French a-la-mode 
hood ; my petticoat and mantua of French brocade ; my cherry- 
coloured stays ; and, for morning wear, my frocks of painted lawn, 
checkered shade, and watered tabby. As for my head-dress, I had 
considered this important subject with Jenny, and resolved that I 
would wear (as most suitable for my age and unmarried condi- 
tion) a low coiffure, with falling lappets, such as Jenny could easily 
arrange, even though the elder ladies should think fit to appear 
every day in high commodes. I was also happy in the possession 
of an etui, which had been my grandmother's — a vastly pretty 
thing, with a gold watch, and places for scissors, knife, pencil, ivory 
tablets, box for thimble, another for aromatic vinegar, and a third 
for perfume (my favourite was from childhood the same as Lady 
Crewe's, namely, bergamot), and a multitude of pretty, old-fashioned 
things worked in gold, such as little birdcages, eggs, tiny anchors, 
and so forth, and a seal with ths family coat of arms and the 
Forster legend : 

' Let us dearly then hold 

To mind their worthiness, 
That which our parents old 

Hath left us to possess.' 

Enough said of a simple girl's finery, though in truth it made me 
happy at the time to think that I could stand among great ladies 1 
and not be ashamed of my homely dress. Perhaps it makes me 
happy still (or rather less sorrowful) to remember the things which 
caused my first happiness. Mr. Hilyard (he came with us) says 
that a great Italian poet declares that the memory of past gladness 
makes more sad the present sorrow. It is presumptuous to set up 
Rn opinion against a poet ; but this is very certain, that there is one 
woman to whom all her consolation (besides the hope of the future) 1 
lies in the memory of the past. Why is joy, which comes so rarely 



CHRISTMAS EVE. n 7 

and flies so swiftly, given to men except to be a lasting memory 
and consolation ? The summer of our North Country is short, and 
the winter is long ; yet all the year round we think of the sunshine, 
and in the cold winter eat with gratitude the fruits and harvests 
of the summer. So should it be with our hours, days, or years of 
happiness. In the cold winter which follows — love fled, friends 
dead, fortune lost, pride destroyed — our hearts should be warmed 
and our pains consoled by the mere thinking upon the vanished 
joys, just as I still think upon my stay at Dilston. Shall not an 
old man comfort himself with thinking of his former strength, and 
an old woman with the thought of her former beauty ? I myself, 
being now in middle life and no longer comely, remember with 
grateful joy that my beauty once gave pleasure to all who looked 
upon it, loveliness in woman being, like the gracious sunshine, a 
gift for all alike, even to those who value it least and are insensible 
to its delight. To be sure, in those days I knew nothing of the 
pleasure which all men feel, rich and poor, young and old alike, 
though some are more insensible than others, in the contemplation 
of a lovely woman, so that some have beautiful faces painted on 
their snuff-boxes, and do gaze upon them constantly, even to the 
wasting of their time and the troubling of their heads, as the Greek 
gazed upon and fell in love with, and pined for, his statue, until 
Venus changed the marble into flesh ; though it hath never been 
related that a miracle was wrought with a snuff-bos, and one has 
never heard that a painted face has been transformed into a beau- 
teous damsel. 

Well, Dilston was reached at last, after that cold ride ; and you 
may be sure that Tom Forster bawled lustily for hot mulled ale. 
We found the castle full of the Radcliffes, and all the great house 
astir with guests and servants and preparations for the feast. 

My expectations proved true. The ladies Katharine and Mary 
were richly dressed indeed ; yet with something sombre and nun- 
like, as was said to be affected by Madame de Maintenon, tho 
French King's wife. The gentlemen were dressed in the plain 
Northumberland fashion, except the Earl and his two brothers, who, 
after the manner in which they were brought up, dressed with 
great richness ; even Charles, the youngest — who was not yet at his 
full height, and only fifteen years of age, and wore his owa hair 
tied behind with a crimson ribbon — had a silk coat, a flowered 
waistcoat, white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes. Everybody 
was so good as to compliment me on the appearance which I 
made. Even the ladies kindly said that though my maid was only 
a country girl, she had so dressed my hair as to give it a modish 
look, and that no one could have looped my frock better, or shown 
a richer petticoat. 

' It is the first Christmas we have spent at home,' said the Earl. 
* We must forget none of the old customs of the country. Besides, 
they are all Catholic customs, which is another reason for keeping 
t-heua up,' 



u3 ^OROTIIY FORSTER. 

'Mr. Hilyard, my lord,' I said, ' will have it that many of these 
are pagan, though transferred to Catholicism, and long ago adopted 
by the Church.' 

He laughed, and called me an obstinate little Puritan. 

The supper was served in the great hall, decked with holly and 
mistletoe ; a Yule-log was blazing upon the hearth ; the side-tables 
were dazzling with the Radcliffe plate ; and the tables were covered 
with Yule-cakes, which are, in the north, shaped like a baby, and 
Christmas pies in form of a cradle, not to speak of goose-pies, shrid 
or mince pies, caraway-cakes, brawn, sirloins, turkeys, capons, hams 
and gammons, pheasants, partridges, hares, and everything good and 
fit for man's delight. When all was ready and the company 
assembled, they brought in the boar's head, maids and men follow- 
ing, all lustily singing — 

' Nowell, Nowell, 
Tidings good I have to tell.' 

There were but moderate potations at the supper, but some of 
the gentlemen made up for it afterwards ; and when supper was 
done, the company all left the table together and sat down to cards, 
which must never be omitted on Christmas Eve, if you never touch 
a card on any other day. There was a basset-table, and a quadrille- 
table, and a pool of commerce. I played at the last with my lord, 
Charles, and others ; and I won twelve shillings, which made me 
tremble to think what I should have done if I had lost so much. 
Indeed, I had not so much as twelve shillings in the world. After 
the cards we played another game — everybody to say what most he 
loved and least he liked. In such a history as this it would be folly 
to record how my lord vowed that most he loved Dorothy's smiles, 
and most he dreaded Dorothy's frowns. Nevertheless, it must be 
owned that these compliments are pretty things ; they keep up the 
spirits and courage of a girl, and her good opinion of herself, which 
is a great thing. Mr. Errington, of Beaufront, who was one of the 
company, said many pleasant things, pretending to be twenty years 
younger, and to mistake me for my aunt, the beautiful Dorothy 
Forster, whose suitor he had been. Of course I knew that he 
flattered me ; but yet I was pleased. To have such pretty things 
said by so old a man is like a sweet golden russet of last year in the 
month of April. As for Charles Radcliffe, that mad boy swore 
loudly that he would be Miss Dorothy's knight, and pranced about 
singing with gestures like a Frenchman, that sweet old song : 

' Charmante Gabrielle, 

Perce de mille darda, 
Quand la gloire m'appelio 

A la suite de Mars, 
Cruelle di'partie ! 

Malheureux jour ! 
Que ne suis je sans vk 

Ou sans amour 1' 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 113 

' We are in England, Charles, 1 said his brother ; ' we are at home. 
Let us have no French songs.' 

For some of the gentlemen looked dissatisfied. The language of 
gallantry and compliment was not greatly to their liking, and Tom 
even burst out a-laughing at hearing his sister so praised and com- 
plimented. This made me blush far more than any compliment 
One does not expect of a brother the praises and flatteries of a 
suitor ; but at least he should not be wholly insensible to a sister's 
beauty, or laugh at men who praise it. But then Tom always loved 
his gun, his horse, his dog, and his bottle, better than any woman. 
Presently he went away, with most of the others, to sit over the 
wine, and there were only left my lord and his brothers, the ladies, 
Mr. Howard, the old priest, and Mr. Errington ; and these, left to 
themselves, sat about the fire and told stories suitable to the time 
of year. 

Strange, indeed, that men should be so venturesome as to doubt 
the truth of what hath been most abundantly proved ! Yet Lord 
Derwentwater laughed at the stories of the Northumberland ghosts, 
for no other reason than that they had no ghosts at St. Germain's. 
But Mr. Howard, who had lived in the county before, and knew, 
shook his head, and the ladies looked at each other with surprise, 
and Mr. Errington solemnly reproved this doubter. 

' My lord,' he said, ' there is not a Northumbrian, man, woman 
or child, that believes not in the appearance of apparitions; nay 
most of us have ourselves seen them. You have spent your youth 
in towns and Courts where, to be sure, there is little chance of 
meeting fairies. When you have learned the savage wildness of the 
moors, the solitude of the woods, and the silence 01 the long winter 
nights, you will speedily be converted, and doubt no more. 
Northumberland, without her ghosts and fairies, would be but half 
populated.' 

' Truly,' said the Earl. ' one ghost, methinks, were as efficacious 
as a hundred for the conversion of a doubter.' 

He then spread a cushion on the carpet, and sat or lay upon it at 
my feet, saying : 

' In France they call them old wives' tales. Let us hear of our 
North-country ghosts from young lips. Tell us some of your most 
frightful, Miss Dorothy.' 

Tnus invited, I was greatly confused ; but with the assistance of 
Mr. Errington, who helped me, and suggested one history after the 
other, I boldly began upon the stories current among the people, and 
substantiated by evidence which cannot be denied : videlicet, that of 
the persons who themselyes have seen the visions and appearances 
described. 

The Earl knew nothing. He had been allowed to grow up in a 
most astonishing ignorance of the county ghosts. As for his brother 
Frank, he already knew something, having perhaps learned it (though 
of this I was then ignorant) of Jenny Lee and of others, being a 
youth of inquiring mind, who asked questions. Jt was astonishing 



i2o DOROTHY FORSTER. 

to think that a Radcliffe should grow to years of manhood without 
having heard even of the Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh, or 
the Seeker of Dunstanburgh, or the fairies brought to Fawdon Hill 
by the Crusaders, or of King Arthur at Sewingshields, the Monk of 
Blinkburn, Jeannie of Haselrigg, or Meg of Maldon. 

' Let us all,' said my lord, ' go seek in Dunstanburgh, and dig into 
the earth at Sewingshields. Yet stay, how would King Arthur 
agree with the Prince, should both return together ? Methinks we 
must first consult his Highness. Go on, fair story-teller.' _ 

Then I began to tell of things more certain ; not so ancient, and 
witnessed by people still surviving. Then the two old ladies, who 
knew better than myself the stories of Northumberland, nodded 
their heads, caught each other by the hands, held their breath, shook 
forefingers at their nephew, and asked in the pauses between the 
stories, ' Was there ever before a Radcliffe who had to be taught 
these things at one-and-twenty ?' Pretty it was to see how much 
these ladies thought of their nephew, and how their kind eyes rested 
upon him with happiness. 

Also, while I told my tales, I saw how Frank listened, with large 
sad eyes, and sighed, as if for the mere pleasure of listening to such 
stories, as one who was for ever considering how to converse with 
the dwellers of the other world. It was plain that he was ready to 
believe — ay ! and even to see — whatever he was told. Of such are 
those who most frequently behold spectres, see visions, and have 
strange dreams. He breathed quickly ; he sighed ; he looked round 
him as if in the dark depths of the great hall, and among the figures 
in armour, behind the tapestry, there lurked the very shades and 
appearances about which we were speaking. As for old Mr. Erring- 
ton, he reminded me of this story and of that, filled up the details, 
wagged his head, and, like the Lady Mary, shook his forefinger at 
my lord — the Didymus or Unbeliever. There was also Mr. Howard, 
the priest — an old man, too, of venerable aspect. He sat with hi9 
chin upon his hand, less occupied with the stories than with gazing 
upon the young lord of all, as he lay at my feet, the red light of the 
fire playing upon his face, which was upturned to look upon mine. 

Simple things, yet terrible, arc the omens and appearances in this 
haunted county. 

I trembled while I told of the ghostly and shadowy hearse which, 
especially in the winter nights, rolls slowly and silently — an awful 
thing to see — up and down the roads till it comes to the house 
where the death is going to happen, and how the farmer once going 
home from market saw the hearse stop at his own door, and knew 
that one of his family would die. There were six tall sons, each 
one strong and brave, and three daughters, each one beautiful ; and 
there was his wife. Which would be taken? The rest of that 
story is enough to convert the greatest scoffer, as well as to turn 
the sinner to repentance. Then there is the wauf , or figure of the 
person about to die seen by another person. Surely it is a most 
dreadful thing to have the power of seeing the wauf, for if one seen 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 121 

it, there arises a doubt and difficult question : should the person 
who is to die be told of it, or not ? If he be told, he may fall into 
despair ; and if not, then a great opportunity of seeking grace for 
the soul is lost. There is also the brag, which may assume what- 
ever shape it pleases, as a calf, or a bundle of wood, or a hare, or a 
rick of hay, or anything which its tricksy and mischievous imagina- 
tion may choose to order, to confound and tease a poor man or 
woman. And then there are the actual ghosts, whose number is in 
our country legion— such as Jethro Burnet, the miser, who walks 
to lament the loss of his money-bags ; the wretch who hanged him- 
self, and hath since found no rest ; the poor girl who was murdered, 
and the man who murdered her — the former beside the pool wherein 
she was cast, and the latter by the gibbet, at Amble, where he was 
hanged in chains ; Meg of Maldon, who walks of a night between 
Maldon and Hartington ; the poor wretched woman who wanders on 
Hexham Moor at night, shrieking and crying (at Blanchland she 
could be heard plainly when the wind was high) because she killed 
her child with neglect, and now suffers — one knows not for how 
long — this misery. All these things were certainly intended for 
our admonition and warning. Again, there are the white figures 
which sometimes appear to fly from under the foot of the belated 
traveller ; there is the strange and well-authenticated story of Nelly 
the Knocker ; that of the Ghost of Silky ; that of the fairy changing 
the little dwarf Hobbie ; how a lad going forth one night to walk 
with his sweetheart, found her changed into the Devil ; with many 
other strange and true storie?, showing what may be expected, and 
hath already been witnessed in the county. 

They listened, as has been told. They looked fearfully about 
the room. No one thought that in five short years Dilston Hall 
itself would be left to decay, and, in ten years more, another 
mournful figure would be added to the troop of Northumberland 
ghosts. 

' This,' said my lord, when I finished, 'is a fitting North-country 
termination of a Christmas feast ; to sit after supper and tell bug- 
bear tales. Fair narrator ! you have so well done your part, that 
henceforth, I promise you, I will accept them all. I doubt no 
longer. If I were to meet Silky herself, I should not be surprised. 
If I heard Nelly the Knocker, or saw Meg of Maldon walking in 
the corridor, or the ghost of my great-grandmother ' 

'Nephew,' said Lady Katharine gently, 'do not mock ; the spirits 
of our ancestors may be round us at this moment, with our guardian 
angels. Vex them not, lest when we go to join them, they meet us 
with angry countenance.' 

' Enough of ghosts,' said Mr. Howard. ' To-morrow is Christmas. 
It is always the time to think about the next world, and sometimes 
we may hear these tales, which, true or not, help to keep faith 
alive ; and these are times, Master Frank ' — he laid his hand upon 
the boy's shoulder — ' when we must rejoice in tho present, feast, 
make other people joyful, and be glad ourselves' 



132 DOROTHY FORSTEK. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 

Thus began the Christinas, which we kept with such royal state. 
It has been stated that this was a political meeting. Nothing <?ould 
be farther from the truth. There was not, during the whole time, 
one word spoken concerning politics. It is true that rr>y lord 
treated Tom as a private and especial friend, and showed him a 
very singular kindness throughout. It is also true that no two 
gentlemen could be more unlike each other than these two ; for, 
while one was well read and loved books, the other knew little save 
what he had been taught, and read nothing but Qnincy s ' Dispen- 
satory,' and his book on 'Farriery.' Also, one loved the society of 
ladies, and the other did not; one cared nothing for drinking, 
which to the other was his chief delight ; one loved poetry and 
music, which to the other gave little or no pleasure. One went 
habited with due regard to his rank, having a valet to dress him ; 
the other was careless of his dress, generally going about, on his 
shooting and other business, in great boots and a plain plush coat, 
stained with wine and weather. 

' Friendship,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' commonly with young men, goes 
by opposites. If Jonathan resembled his father, he had nothing of 
David's disposition in him ; yet were they friends in youth. The 
great Coligny and his malignant enemy, Guise, were once close 
friends, each admiring points of unlikeness. Perhaps my lord and 
Mr. Forster admire also, each in the other, points of unlikeness.' 

Although the party consisted both of Catholics and Protestants, 
there were no discussions on that account ; for, in Northumberland, 
so many families still belong to the old religion that we can meet 
each other without quarrelling. It must not, therefore, be thrown 
in Tom's face that he was a secret friend of Papists. This has been 
said of him with injustice. In truth, there was never a stouter 
Protestant, though his lawful Sovereign belongs, unhappily, to the 
opposite faith. Yet so tolerant withal. 'Each," he would say, 'for 
his own religion. Live and let live. Bnt not to middle -vir.b the 
endowments of the Church or to suffer Papists and Nonconformists 
to enter into the Universities.' 

On the evening of Christmas Day there was performed for our 
pleasure the old play of 'Alexander and the Egyptian King, by 
village mummers from Hexham and Dilston. The mummers were 
dressed up with ribbons and finery in rags and tatters ; on their 
heads they wore gilt-paper crowns ; they carried swords, and had a 
fiddler with them who played lustily all the time, whether the 
speakers were delivering their words or not. 

First came the great King Alexander — he was a blacksmith by 
trade, and a very big and lusty fellow, who wore a splendid crown 
of gilt paper and a rusty breastplate ; he flourished a sword and 
marched valiantly, strutting like a, game-cock after a fight. Then 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT 123 

toe pronounced his verses, and brave verses they were, though after- 
wards he quite forgot that he had promised to produce for us Dives 
and a Doctor. The Doctor came in due course, but we looked in 
vain for Dives, and a great moral lesson was lost. Everybody would 
like to be rich, yet few know the danger of riches or their own 
weakness in temptation. After him came the King of Egypt and 
his son Prince George ; the King was stricken in years, and some- 
what bent by rheumatism and his trade, that of shoe-mending ; but 
the Prince was a lad whom I knew for as famous a hand with cudgel 
or quarterstaff as one may hope to see at a country fair. There 
was no reason why he should wish to fight Alexander, yet it seemed 
natural that they should, immediately on meeting, hurl words of 
reproach at each other and fly to arms. A most terrible and bloody 
fight it was which followed, the combatants thwacking and hacking 
at each other in such earnest as made one tremble, save for the 
thought that the swords were but stout ash-twigs painted blue, fitter 
to raise great weals than make deep cuts. The fiddler, meantime, 
ran round the pair, shouting while he played ; and the King, so far 
from feeling terror for his son, clapped his hands and applauded, as 
we all did. It was arranged that Prince George was to be killed, 
but such was his stubborn nature that he refused to lie down until 
the great conqueror, a much heavier man than he, had first covered 
him from top to toe with blows and bruises. When at length he 
lay down, the Doctor was called in. This learned man, who was 
the clerk of the parish, impudently asserted his ability to cure all 
diseases, and, in proof, restored the Prince to life. Then there was 
another duello between the King and the conqueror : the reason of 
which I did not understand, save that it enabled the cobbler to show 
under what unhappy conditions one bent with bis trade has to fight. 
It needs not to say that the cobbler, too, fell beneath great Alex- 
ander's sword. They bore away his body, and all was over. 

' But where is Dives ?' cried my lord. ' You promised Dives.' 

The actors looked at one another, and presently the blacksmith 
plucked up courage to explain that there never was any Dives in 
the piece at all, though it was true that he was regularly promised 
in the prologue or opening verses. 

'Well,' said my lord, 'we will excuse the Dives for this once ; 
and thank you, actors all, for a merry tragical piece, in which I 
know not whether most to admire the skill of Alexander or the 
courage of the King who dared to meet him. Stand aside, good 
fellows, and let us go on to the next show.' 

Then followed the singers and choristers of Hexham, who were 
ordered to sing none but true North-country songs, of which we 
have many, and our people sing them prettily and in tune, some- 
times one taking treble, and another a second, and a third tenor or 
bass, and all with justness, according to time and tune very melo- 
diously, the like of which, I think, will not be found elsewhere, 
save in cathedrals, such as Durham and other places, where anthems 
My lord confessed that be had never beard anything like 



124 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

this rustic singing in France, where the peasants sing on holidays ; 
but not, as our people sing, with gravity and earnestness. First 
they sang the song of ' The Knight and the Lady ': 

' There was a lady of the North Countrie 

(Lay the bent to the bonny broom), 
And she had lovely daughters three 
(Lay the bent to the bonny broom).' 

After that they sang the ' Battle of Otterbourne ' ; then the ' Fair 
Flower of Northumberland ' ; and then the ballad of ' Jock o' the 
Side' ; and, last, the 'Jolly Huntsman's Garland,' beginning: 

• I walked o'er the mountains, 

Where shepherds feed their flocks ; 
I spy'd a troop of gallants 

A-hunting of the fox. 
With clamour and with hollow 

They made the woods to ring } 
The hounds they bravely follow, 

Making a merry din.' 

All the gentlemen in the company applauded this song loudly, 
and with a ' Whoop !' and ' View hollo !' — no talk of fox-hunting, 
or song in its praise, is complete without. They knew every verse 
out of the thirty or forty, and the histories, some of which were 
entertaining, of the gentlemen in honour of whom the song was 
written. Nothing is more delightful to one fox-hunter than to talk 
or hear of another. 

There were other songs, and then all were regaled with a present 
in money and a plentiful supper of what they most love at Christ- 
ruastide — namely, a mighty dish of lobscouse, which is a mess of 
beef, potatoes, and onions, strong of smell and of taste, and there- 
fore grateful to coarse feeders. After the lobscouse they had plum- 
porridge and shrid-pies, with as much strong ale as they could carry, 
and more. Yet most of them could carry a great deal : Alexander 
the Great went away with a barrel or so within him, a mere cask of 
ale ; and the King of Egypt was carried from this field of honour 
as from the other. 

One thing I must relate in my lord's honour. Among the singers 
was a plain man (yet he had a sweet, rich voice), who was pointed 
out to him as a Percy by descent. He was but a stone-cutter, yet 
a descendant in the direct line from Jocelyn, the fourth Earl ; and 
I know not how his forefathers fell so low. Lord Derwentwater 
waited until the singing was over, and then stepped forward and 
offered his hand to this man as to a gentleman, and sent for a bottle 
of wine, which he gave him, with a purse of five guineas, saying 
that the Percies and the Radcliffes were cousins. The good man 
was much abashed at first, but presently lifted his head, and carried 
off his bottle and his purse with resolution and pride. This cir- 
cumstance, simple as it may seem, greatly raised the character of 
bis lordship ; for the common people, many of whom are descend 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 125 

ants — even though bye-blows— of the gentlefolk, highly regard and 
are extremely jealous of descent ; so that at Hexham it is a great 
thing to be a Radcliffe, as in Redesclale it is a great thing to be a 
Hall, and as at Bamborongh one would be a Forster if one could, 
and at Alnwick a Percy. To give a poor man a present because he 
is of noble descent is a small thing, certainly ; yet it was done with 
so great an ease and kindness that it touched all hearts. 

If, on Christmas Day, we amused ourselves after the manner of 
the people and were happy in their way, wo were promised, a few 
days later, a performance of a quite different and more fashionable 
kind. It was through Mr. Hilyanl, who always knew everything 
that was going on in the neighbourhood — how, one knows not, save 
that he was ever talking with carriers, postboys, and gipsies, and 
always had a kind word and a crust or a groat for a vagrant, nor 
cared to inquire if he were honest or not, but helped him, he said, 
besause he was a man, and therefore stamped, like his unworthy 
self, with the Divine effigies. He reported that there was a com- 
pany of players at Newcastle, who could doubtless be persuaded, in 
the manner usually found effective among such people, to journey 
as far as Dilston Hall. And he sent off without delay a messenger 
who was to run the whole way, twenty miles, with a letter from 
himself, to bring them, bag and baggage. It was the same company, 
though this he told us not (but I remembered their faces), as that 
among whom we had seen him, for the first time, play Merry 
Andrew ; but the younger actresses were changed, as is, I am told, 
a very common occurrence, their beauty and their cleverness getting 
them rapid promotion, and, in some cases, good husbands. Why, 
Lord Derwentwater's grandmother was herself but an actress, 
though she made a King fall in love with her. 

These strollers were so poor — for the profits of each night's per- 
formance are but a few shillings to be divided among all— that they 
joyfully acceded to the invitation, and jumped at an offer which 
was to them nothing short of beef and beer and lodging for a month 
to come, so generous was my lord. 

He had never seen an English play. Nor had I myself, or Tom, 
or any of the young gentlemen ; though I had often heard my 
father speak of Drury Lane and the little theatre in the Haymarket, 
the amusements of which he often enjoyed when in London on his 
Parliament business. 

'I have witnessed the playing,' said my lord, 'at the Comedie 
Francaise, where they play very finely the tragedies of the great 
Racine and Corneille and the comedies of Moliere. I have also 
attended a performance of Madame de Maintenon's sacred plays 
with which she amuses his Majesty ; and I have seen the Italian 
troupe, who are full of tricks and merriment, and have a thousand 
ingenious arts to divert their company. The play is truly a most 
polite form of entertainment, and would be more delightful if the 
parterre could be by any means induced to remain quiet, and if the 
■actors could have the stage to themselves, without the three rows 



126 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

of gentlemen who interrupt the performance by loud talking, and 
encumber the movements of the actors. Mr. Hilyard, I beg that 
you will allow no seats upon our stage. We will all sit in front.' 

At Dilston, as everywhere, Mr. Hilyard was entrusted with the 
management of our amusements. 

'I appoint you, sir,' said my lord, 'if I may, our Master of tho 
Revels ; and I require but one thing of you — that you please Miss 
Dorothy.' 

I was so much pleased that never since have I lost the memory 
of that fortnight, and dwell upon it with such delight in the recol- 
lection as I cannot express in words. Oh ! sad it is (if we do not 
apply the thought to our spiritual advantage) that youth and beauty 
must fade, that love cannot always follow a smooth and easy course, 
and that the things we most desire should so often be snatched 
from our grasp just as we think them within our reach ! To 
meditate upon the fleeting and momentary nature of earthly happi- 
ness is now my lot. The thought of the past would be too much 
for me, were it not for the heavenly blessing and divinely given 
hope that there is another and a more lasting youth before us. 
Why, what is it to pass through a few years of old age and solitary 
decay, when there awaits us another life in which I shall meet 
again my lord, with that same noble face which I remember so well, 
and those kindly eyes which, like the eyes in a portrait on the wall, 
follow me still, though they are long since closed in death ! The 
face and the eyes will be the same, but oh ! glorified, and in the 
living image of God. And as for me, my poor beauty that I loved 
so well, yet lost without a sigh when my friends were gone, that, 
too, will be given back to me, and more, with such heavenly graces 
as are vouchsafed to those who believe. There will be no marrying 
nor giving in marriage ; but a pure and innocent love will flow from 
one soul to another, so that my lord will meet me again with such a 
look in his sweet eyes as he wore in those old days at Dilston Hall. 
Therefore, weep no more, poor Doroihy ; but patience, and tell thy 
story. 

The play which Mr. Hilyard (hose for as was Congreve'a 
' Mourning Bride.' He had read it to me more than once ; but 
although the situation, even to one who reads or listens to the poem, 
is full of horror, and the unravelling of the plot keeps the mind 
agreeably on the stretch of expectation, I was not prepared for the 
emotions caused by the actual representation of the piece before my 
eyes. Mr. Hilyard arranged for the performance in the great hall, 
providing a curtain and footlights as in a real theatre, with scenery 
to help the imagination. Thus the scene in tho temple or church 
was an awful representation of aisles and columns which one wal 
easily persuaded to regard as real, though they were nothing in thr 
world but rolls of canvas or linen daubed with grey paint. Ant* 
thus (but I ought to have expected something from Mr. Hilyard's 
vast importance^ »■ most agreeable surprise awaited us. Not onlj 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT 127 

did our Master of the Revels himself pronounce a prologue, begin- 
ning — 

' Far from the London boards we've travelled here, 
Bringing with us, to make you better cheer, 
Great Dryden, Congreve, Shakespeare, Faiqnhar, Eowe, 
To raise your mirth and bid your tears to flow ;' 

and ending — 

' Do thou, my lord, 
Fresh from the splendour of a Court, bestow 
(Though a!l our art be simple, and .mr show 
But rustic) gracious audience ; and while 
We strive to please, do thou be pleaded to smile. 
Of ye, O fair ! we ask, but not in vain, 
To think 'tis London and in Drury Lane. 
See Osmyn hug his chains, and Zara say, 
" Blest be the death which whiles for you this night away." ' 

' Upon my word,' said my lord, ' Mr. Hilyard is a much more 
ingenious gentleman than I thought.' 

' He is well enough,' said Tom. ' But this verse- writing is mighty 
silly skimble-skamble stuff.' 

Then the curtain drew up, and the play began. Everybody 
knows this most beautiful tragedy, in which Almeida mourns the 
bridegroom torn from her at the very hour of her marriage, and 
drowned by being wrecked. But — and here is the dramatist s art — 
her father is not to know of the marriage, therefore it is supposed 
that Almeria was a prisoner in Valentia, and that her husband was 
none other than the King of Va'entia's son ; but that the town was 
taken by Almeria's father, and the King and Prince Alphonso were 
forced to fly, and so taken captive or perished in the waves. The 
actress was a young woman of some beauty set off by art. She was 
of light complexion, with very fair hair and blue eyes, which I dare 
say are common among the Spaniards, and it showed very well 
under her black mourning habits. She spoke her part so naturally, 
telling the story of her hasty marriage and the loss of her groom so 
movingly, that we were all in tears from the beginning. And 
picture our astonishment when we discovered in the second scene 
that the prisoner, Osmyn, was none other than Mr. Hilyard him- 
self ! Instead of a wig, he wore a Moorish turban ; instead of a 
coat and waistcoat, a suit of cbain-armour (borrowed from the wall 
of the very hall where the play was acted). He was fettered with 
heavy chains, which he rattled dolefully ; his face was full of stern- 
ness and resolution (quite unlike the short face and twinkling eyes 
of Mr. Hilyard), and his head was thrown back to express his scorn 
of his conqueror. I do not know why anyone should scorn a 
conqueror, but in Plutarch and the drama they always do so. A 
conqueror, methinks, should be admired as the stronger and more 
skilful ; if fate permits it, he should be imitated. But perhaps the 
scorn is intended to show the defiance of virtue, ever, though vice 
be for the moment victorious. 



128 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

He had little to say in the first act. But in the second, h« 
showed the greatness of his soul. The scene is in the aisle of a vast 
church. Tjie hearers were awed and terrified by the words of 
Almeria : 

' It strikes an awe 
And terror on my aching sight. The tomb 
And monumental caves of death are cold, 
And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart !' 

She finds Osmyn : he is weeping at his father's tomb, for behold, 
Osniyn is none other than Alphonso. The raptures of their meet- 
ing are interrupted by the arrival of Zara, also one of the captives. 
She is in love with Osmyn. (After the performance, I reflected 
that it must be a rare thing for prisoners, male and female, thus to 
wander unrestrained about a church at midnight. Where were 
Osmyn's fetters ?) She upbraids him with his coldness, and offers 
liberty for love. He refuses. Then she threatens him, and on the 
arrival of the King has him conveyed to prison, with the immediate 
prospect of death by rack and whip. Mr. Hilyard (I mean Osmyn) 
went to face it with so heroic a countenance that we could not 
choose but wonder. Did one ever believe that Mr. Hilyard could 
face death and torture with so bold a front ? I declare that, for 
one, 1 have ever since considered the courage of this peaceful 
scholar as tried and proved ; nor is it any answer to say that an 
unshrinking mien may be assumed even by a coward in the presence 
of pretended torture. I am perfectly assured that no coward could 
assume without betraying so assured and finished a guise of heroism. 
In the morning, on reflection, I thought it strange that the King as 
well as his prisoners should spend the night in wandering among 
the tombs in a church. 

In the third act Osmyn is visited in prison by his friend Heli (I 
forget whether he was also a prisoner, or merely a wandering friend), 
who informs him that there are hopes of a mutiny among the troops, 
and that Zara may assist to release him. In fact, Zara comes — she 
was a brunette, with speaking eyes, and very finely, as I thought, 
played the part of a hapless woman who loves where she is not 
loved in return. She promises assistance, hoping for reward. She 
then retires, apparently to make room for Almeria, but returns to 
discover Almeria with the captive. This fires her resentment : 

' Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd, 
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.' 

In the fourth act things present a most dreadful outlook to 
Almeria and her fettered husband ; but in the fifth, all, by a most 
fortunate and providential succession of murders, ends well. First, 
a mute carrying messages is slain ; the King take3 the place of 
Osmyn (or Alphonso) in the prison, and is murdered by mistake ; 
Zara poisons herself, and throws herself upon the body of the 
King, whom she supposes to be Alphonso ; Almeria comes and 
(prepares to imitate her rival, when Alphonso, victorious and 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT- 129 

triumphant, bursts upon the scene, and saves her just in the nick of 
time. To tell how the tragic story filled my heart with pity and 
terror while it was acting, how Almeria bewailed her fate, how Zara 
raged, how nobly Mr. Hilyard (or Alphonso) bore himself, would 
be impossible. Suffice it to say that we wiped away our tears and 
were happy again, though the stage was strewn with dead bodies, 
when Alphonso spoke the last lines : 

' Still in the way of honour persevere, 
And not from past or present ills despair, 
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, 
And, though a late, a sure reward succeeds.' 

There were others present who enjoyed the play as much as I did, 
though my lord said that, in his opinion, and compared with the 
majestic work of Racine, it was but a poor piece, and that the situa- 
tions were forced, with too much blood. All the servants who chose 
to come were allowed to stand at the lower end, and though some of 
them gaped and wondered what it all might mean, there were others 
who looked on with delight. Among them was my maid Jenny, 
whom I discerned standing on a stool at the far end, her face aglow 
with a kind of rapture, her great black eyes like coals of fire, her 
lips parted, and her body bent forward — things which I remembered 
afterwards. This girl (who was, as I have said, clever, sharp, and 
faithful) I had taught to read. I am well aware that I am open to 
censure for doing this. The possession of this key to learning is 
a dangerous thing. It is certainly a question which still remains to 
be answered, whether persons in that class should be taught to read ; 
for, in the first place, a little learning is a dangerous thing. Again, 
discontent is easily acquired when one learns how many, from 
obscure origins, have become rich. Thirdly, it has been abundantly 
proved that there is no villain like a villain who can read and write. 
On the other hand, it seems good that a man or woman should be 
able to read the Prayer Book, Catechism, and Psalms of David in 
the vulgar tongue, and the Bible as well, provided always that the 
interpretation of it be modestly left to clergymen of the Established 
Church, and not undertaken by private judgment. As for matters 
of daily work, such as the farm and the house and medicine, it is 
certain that book-learning will never become so good as the teaching 
of those who have learned from their fathers and mothers. How- 
ever, be it right or wrong, I taught the girl to read ; and Jenny, 
though this I knew not, began to read everything she could find at 
all times when she was not at work. Among other things she read, 
it is supposed, volumes of plays which belonged to Mr. Hilyard. 

When the play was over, Jenny, instead of going to bed as a good 
girl should have done, must needs wait about (this I learned after- 
wards) until the players went to their supper ; and after supper she 
sat up with them, listening open-mouthed to their talk. It seems 
that people of this profession scarce ever go to bed before one or 
two o'clock in the morning, because after their great passion and 
the excitement of so many emotions they are fain to sit up till late, 

2 



1 30 DOROTH V FORSTER. 

recov&ting the calmness of spirit necessary for qniet sleep. I know 
not what they said to her, or she to them ; but afterwards she waa 
never the same girl. She had moods and fits ; would cry for 
nothing, and laugh at a little ; read more book of plays ; and, 
among the other maids, would imitate not only the actresses, but 
also the very gentlemen of the company to the life — their voice, 
gestures, and manner of bearing themselves. This was a very impu- 
dent and disrespectful thing to do. I have also reason to believe- 
but as I never charged it upon him, so he never confessed it — that 
Mr. Hilyard himself secretly encouraged the girl to learn, and taught 
her to declaim with justness of emphasis and proper management 
of voice, passages from his books. Great scholar and wit though he 
was, he did not sufficiently consider the consequences of his actions. 
To teach such a girl to deliver poetry with eloquence was as much 
as to give a man who hath no money a taste for the most costly 
wines. 

This, however, by the way. 

In the morning I myself, finding the players preparing to go 
away, entered into conversation with one of the women, the one 
who played Zara. She was a young woman of genteel carriage and 
respectful speech, who, off the stage, although upon it she was so 
queenly in her bearing and so full of fire and action, might very 
well have passed for a respectable seamstress or milliner. As for 
the woman who played Leonora, she was the wife of the King, I 
found, and middle-aged, with a baby. First of all, when I spoke to 
Zara, I found she was shy, as if afraid that I should despise or 
insult her, a thing of which I am told actors are very jealous, 
because by statute law they are regarded as rogues and vagabonds. 

' In Paris,' my lord told me, ' they once lost in this way their best 
actress, an incomparable and most beautiful creature, who was so 
enraged by the insults of the parterre, that she returned them with 
scorn and indignation. They clapped her in prison for this lese- 
majeste ; but when she was liberated, she refused ever to act again.' 

Well, but 1 did not wish to show contempt for anybody, much 
less a virtuous and honest young woman ; and I made haste to com- 
pliment her on her rare and wonderful gift of impersonation, adding 
that I had learned to respect the art from my tutor, Mr. Hilyard, 
whom they had allowed to play Osmyn. Then I asked her about 
her way of life, and if she was happy. She replied that, indeed, for 
happiness she could not tell, because poor folks are never over- 
whelmed with happiness ; that the pay was uncertain, and sometimes 
food was scanty, and there were times when to play in a barn for a 
supper was counted great gain ; yet (I remembered afterwards that 
Jenny stood beside me, and was listening with open mouth) the 
delight of acting (' Oh ! Ah !' a gasp and a sigh from Jenny) was so 
great as to counterbalance the evils of poverty. That, to be sure, 
fine ladies look down upon an actress as mere dirt beneath their 
feet ; but what signifies that, since one need never speak with a fine 
lady ? That it was a hard life, in which a body hath no time to be 
ill or to be wearied, or to have any mood or mind of her own, but 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT 131 

always ready for a new part and to play a new passion ; yet, that 
this evil was compensated for by the freedom and variety of the life. 

' Consider, madam,' she said earnestly, ' if I were not an actress, 
I should be a maid in a lady's house, or a common drudge to a 
tradesman's wife, or perhaps a dressmaker, or serving-woman to a 
coffee-house or a tavern ; or, if I had good looks, perhaps a shop- 
girl, to sell gloves, ribbons, and knickknacks, in Cranbourne Alley. 
Your ladyship doth not know, I am sure, the rubs and flips which 
we poor women have to endure from harsh masters. What is our 
character to them, provided fine gentlemen come to the shop and 
buy ? and what do they care what becomes of the poor girls ? One 
gone, another is easily found. All poor people must be unhappy in 
some way, I suppose. Give me my liberty ' — here Jenny choked — 
' if I must starve with it. But we all hope for better times, and 
perhaps, before we grow old and lose such good looks as the Lord 
hath given to us, an engagement at York Theatre — or even ' — here 
she gasped as one who catcheth at a bunch of grapes too high — ' at 
Drury Lane.' 

So they packed up their dresses and gilt crowns, their tin swords 
and fineries, and went away, well pleased with the generous pay of 
my lord. But Mr. Hilyard went about with his chin in the air, 
still thinking himself Osmyn, for many days to come. 

' Are there,' asked my lord, ' many scholars of Oxford who can 
act, and write verses, and play the buffoon, and sing like that strange 
man of yours, Miss Dorothy ? In Paris, such a scholar becomes an 
abbe ; he may make as many verses as he pleases, and pay court to 
as many patrons, and be lapdog to the fine ladies, but act upon the 
stage he may not. 1 

Yet he congratulated the actor with the kindness which belonged 
to his nature, trying to make him feel that his genius and the 
variety of his powers were admired and understood. And before 
we came away my lord gave him a snuff-box, which Mr. Hilyard 
still carries and greatly values. It bears upon the lid a picture of 
Danae, believed to be the portrait of Nell Gwynne. 

' But as for his acting,' my lord went on, ' I care not who acts 
nor what the piece, so long as thou art pleased, fair Daphne. For 
to please thee is at present all my thought and my only care. Ah ! 
blushing, rosy English cheek ! Sure nowhere in the world are the 
women so beautiful as in England ; and nowhere so true, and good 
as well, as in my own county.' 

With such pretty speeches he ended everything. If it were a 
ride, it must be whither I pleased ; if we walked, it must be in what 
erection I commanded ; when we dined, the dishes were to be to 
my liking ; if I ventured to praise anything, it must become my 
own — nay, I think that, had I chosen, I could have stripped the 
walls even of the family portraits, carried off the treasures which 
the house contained, and borne away all the horses from the stable. 
My lord possessed that nature wij : ch is never truly happy unless it 
is devising further happiness and fresh joyful surprises for those he 



132 DOROTHY fOKSTER. 

CHAPTER XV. 

NEW YEAR'S DAT. 

Ox the day of the New Year, which is the day for giving and re- 
ceiving presents, there was so great an exchange of pretty things 
that I cannot enumerate them. For everybody gave something, if 
it were only a little trifle worked by hand. Thus, my lord presented 
Tom with a hunter, and Tom gave him a fowling-piece which had 
belonged to his uncle Ferdinando. Though the general joy at the 
master's return was so great that the tables groaned beneath the 
presents offered to him, yet I think he gave far more than he 
received. That was ever his way — to give more than he received, 
whether in friendship, trust, and confidence, or in rich presents, or 
in love. It is a happy disposition, showing that its owner is already 
half prepared for heaven. As for myself, I was made nothing short 
of rich by the many beautiful and costly things that were bestowed 
upon me. Tom gave me a pair of gloves, the Lady Mary a small 
parcel of point-lace of Valenciennes, the Lady Katharine a piece of 
most beautiful brocade, saying that she was too old for such gauds 
and vanities, which became young and beautiful gentlewomen, and 
her maid should give me counsel how best to make it up. Mr. 
Howard gave me a book from the library containing the ' Medita- 
tions ' of Thomas a Kempis. Alas ! I paid little heed at the time 
to the wise and comforting words of that precious book, though 
now, next to one other, it is my greatest consoler. (I also find 
some of the ' Thoughts ' of Monsieur Pascal worthy the attention 
of those who would seek comfort from religion.) Frank gave me 
a silver chain — it had been his grandmother's — for hanging keys 
and what not upon ; and Mr. Errington gave me a pretty little ring 
set with an emerald, saying that he had bought it for the first 
Dorothy Forster twenty years before, but she would have none of 
him or of his gifts. 

' Wherefore, my dear,' he said, ' although an emerald speaks of 
love returned, let me bestow it upon one beautiful enough to bo 
Dorothy's daughter. 

"'0 daughter, fairer than thy mother fair," 

as says some poet, but I forget which, because it is thirty years 
since I left off reading verses. Very likely it was Suckling or 
Waller.' 

' Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard officiously, 'your honour does the Latin 

!>oet Horace the honour to quote him — through an unknown trans- 
ation.' 

' Gad,' replied Mr. Errington, ' I knew not I was quoting Latin. 
I am infinitely obliged to you, sir, for the assistance of your learn- 
ing. It shall bo Horace, since you say so. But much finer things, 
I doubt not, have been said about beautiful women by our English 
poets. Can you, sir, who know the poets, as well as everything 
else' — Mr. Errin<:ton was one of those ccu'Jenifv who rn.r.ml 



NEW YEAR'S DA Y. 133 

scholarship as a kind of trade, to be followed by the baser sort, as 
indeed it chiefly is, and as a means of rising — ' can you, sir, help us 
to something from an English poet 'with which we may compliment 
the beauty of this young lady ?' 

' The language of gallantry,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' was not affected 
by Shakespeare, our greatest poet ; yet there is one passage which 
I submit to your honour. It is in his sonnets, wherein the poet 
says : 

• " Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the lovely April of her person." ' 

' Very good, sir,' said Mr. Errington. ' Fair Dorothy, Shakespeare 
was a prophet.' 

Lord Derwentwater alone gave me nothing, which I thought 
strange. But presently, when the first business and agitation about 
the gifts were over, he begged me to examine with him some of the 
treasures and heirlooms of the house. 

The hall was full of strange things and treasures brought to- 
gether from every part of the world ; by Radcliffes who had 
travelled in far countries, even to Constantinople and the Holy 
Land ; by Radcliffes who had crossed the ocean, and seen the two 
Americas and the savage Indians ; by Radcliffes who had plundered 
Scottish castles and Scottish towns in the old times ; by Radcliffes 
who had bought beautiful things in Italy, and by those who had 
bought them in London. The walls were covered with pictures ; 
not only portraits, but also those pictures which men strangely love 
to paint, of half -clothed shepherdesses, nymphs, satyrs, and so forth ; 
illustrations of stories from Ovid and the ancient poets, some of 
which Mr. Hilyard had read to me ; together with other pictures, 
to my poor understanding equally foolish — to wit, the martyrdom 
and torture of saints, as the shooting of St. Sebastian with arrows ; 
the roasting of St. Lawrence upon a gridiron (this was a very fine 
and much-praised picture by an Italian master, whose name I have 
forgotten ; but it made your flesh creep ever afterwards even to 
think of that poor writhing wretch) ; the angels in heaven, all 
sitting in a formal circle ; the beheading of St. Peter, and so forth. 
I know not why these things should be portrayed, unless, as is 
wisely done in Fox's ' Book of Martyrs,' in order to show, by lively 
pictures of the poor creatures in the flames, what one religion is 
capable of doing, and the other of enduring. Besides the pictures, 
there were suits of armour, both chain-armour, very beautifully 
wrought, and armour of hammered iron, with a whole armoury of 
weapons hanging like trophies upon the walls, such as pikes, lances, 
spears, bows and arrows, crossbows, guns and firelocks of all kinds, 
strange instruments for tearing knights out of their saddles, battle 
axes, maces, and swords of every kind. At my request, my lord 
once dressed himself in one of the suits of chain-armour, and put 
on his head an iron helmet, with side or cheek pieces, and a machine 
for protecting the face. With a battle-axe in his hand, he looked 
most martial and commanding ; yet I laughed to see the long wig 
below the helmet, flowing over the shoulders and the chain-armour. 



1 34 DORO TH V FO/iS TER. 

To each age its fashions ; since the politeness of the present gene- 
ration commands gentlemen no longer to wear their own hair, but 
a full wig, whereby the aged may look young, and the young dis- 
guise their youth and inexperience, there must seem something 
ludicrous when the dress of our ancestors is assumed even for a 
moment. It was not, however, to see these things, which stood 
exposed to the view of all who came, that I was asked to accompany 
my lord. We went to see those treasures which were kept under 
lock and key in cabinets and cupboards, and even in secret places 
Known only to Mrs. Busby, the housekeeper, who came with us, 
bearing the keys. 

Lady Mary came, too. Her sister, Lady Katharine, the most 
gentle and pious of women, was in the chapel, where she spent a 
great part of each day in prayer and meditation. Certainly, if ever 
there was a saint in the Church of Rome, she was one. Though 
we are bound not to accept the doctrine of Purgatory (which seems 
to me the least harmful of human inventions, as regards religion), 
yet I have always thought, in considering the life of this pious 
woman, that there could be no fires of Purgatory for her. Her 
sister was as gentle, but not so pious (yet a good woman, and 
obedient to the Church). 

' My dear,' she said, ' we have many pretty things to show you. 
No doubt the Forsters have also got together, both at Bamborough 
and Etherston, things as curious and more valuable, for we are not 
ignorant that you have been longer in the county. But our collec- 
tions are allowed to be very fine.' 

They were indeed very fine. We have nothing to compare with 
them, either at Etherston or at Bamborough. 

There were old brocades, stiff with gold and silver ; gloves set 
with pearls ; shoe-buckles with diamonds ; embroidered and jewelled 
garters ; damasks, flounced stuffs, rich silks, every kind of woman's 
dress from the time of Henry VI., or even older, to the present 
day. The housekeeper laid them out with pride, saying, ' This 
belonged to Lady Radcliffe, your lordship's grandmother, who was 
a daughter of Sir William Fenwick ; and this was part of the bridal 
dress of Anne Radcliffe, who married Sir Philip Constable ; and 
these were the late Lady Swinburne's gloves' — and so on. She 
had, besides, a story to tell of every one ; how this lady was a 
widow and a beauty ; and this one ran away, and another was 
married against her will, and another a widow almost as soon as 
she was a bride : such tales as an old housekeeper loves to gather 
together and to store up. 

' Women,' says Mr. Hilyard, ' are the historians, as they are the 
guardians, of the household.' <■»•' "~'-.r 

' These,' said the Earl, ' are the ladies' collections. My own 
mother '—bis face darkened when he spoke of his mother (at which 
I wonder not) — ' hath added nothing ; but my grandmother and 
her predecessors have all contributed something of their finery to 
make this collection the better. Great pity it is when a family lets 
all be scattered abroad and lost. 



NEW YEARS DAY. 135 

Then we were shown the cabinets, where were locked up the 
trinkets, ornaments, and things in gold. Here were rings of all 
kinds — some old and rudely sot, bat with large stones ; some with 
posies and devices ; some with coats of arms ; some with stories 
belonging to them and some without. Also there were bracelets 
of all kinds — of plain beaten gold, of chains in gold, of rings, of 
serpents ; of Saracen, Turkish, Indian, Venetian, and Florentine 
work ; also necklaces of silver and of gold — plain and set with 
emeralds, diamonds, rubies, opal, sapphires, and all other precious 
etones, egrets, etuis, and chains of all kinds, even the thin and 
delicate chain of pure soft gold from India — one never saw so 
brave a show. Then there were miniatures in gold frames set 
with pearls, of the Kadcliffe ladies, including my own great-grand- 
mother, the heiress of Blanchland. A comely and beautiful race 
they were. Next there were snuff-boxes collected by the late Earl, 
who died in the year 1705. There were dozens of these, mostly 
with lids beautifully painted, but the pictures such as please not a 
woman's eye, being like those on the walls, of half -dressed nymphs 
and shepherdesses. Dear me ! A man who wants to take snuff 
can surely take it quite as well out of a tin or brass snuff-box, such 
as our gentlemen use, as out of a box with a heathen goddess 
sprawling outside, dressed as heathen goddesses were accustomed 
to dress. 

' It is,' said Mr. Hilyard once, talking the nonsense that even 
learned men sometimes permit themselves — ' it is an excuse for 
painting the ideal model, and fountain of beauty. It has been 
held that from Venus — namely, feminine beauty — are born not 
only the train of Loves, petulant and wanton, but also the nine 
Muses, who are, in fact, Poetry, Music, Dancing, Acting, Gallantry, 
Courtesy, Politeness, Courtship, ana Intrigue, and not Thalia and 
her sisters at all, unless they can be proved to have those attributes.' 

This foolish talk I refused to hear. Did ever a woman wish to 
see represented the stalwart form and sturdy calves of her lover ? 
How, then, did we get our love for poetry, dancing, and the rest of 
it, including coquetry ? 

I cannot tell all that was in this cabinet of wonders. But in the 
lowest drawers there lay — fans ! Oh, Heaven ! Fans ! I never 
knew before that there were in the whole wide world so many fans. 
They were all painted, and some of them most beautifully. There 
were fans with flowers on them, so life-like that you stooped to 
breathe the perfume of the rose or the mignonette ; there were 
fans with rustic scenes — swains and shepherdesses dancing round a 
maypole. 

' Do they dance so in France, my lord ?' I asked. 

' Nay,' he replied gravely. ' They dance, indeed, but it is to forget 
the terrors of to-morrow, and to rejoice over the certainty of to- 
day's dinner. There is laughter, but not much joy, in the peasant's 
dance.' 

So I laid that down, and took up another. Upon it was the tale 
of the Sirens aud Ulysses. Ob ! I knew the story, and wonderful 



136 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

it was to see the oarsmen rowing, silent and careless, neither seeing 
nor hearing, while Ulysses, bound to the mast, strained forward to 
catch the musio, after which he would fain have followed like a 
slave if he could. It was a moral piece, and I looked at it with 
admiration. The next — but I cannot run through them all — was 
the Judgment of Paris — the shepherd, a very noble youth, with 
something of the look of my lord upon him ; while as for the god- 
desses, not one of them, to my thinking, deserved an apple so much 
as — but we may not judge, and it seemed to please his lordship. 
Then there were more swains and shepherdesses, very sweet and 
pretty, with grass like velvet, and dresses (though they had been 
tending sheep) as clean and neat as if just out of the band-box. 

' Ah ! if one could find such a country,' I said, ' one would wil- 
lingly turn milkmaid.' 

' And I,' said my lord, ' would even be turned into a shepherd to 
be companion to such a milkmaid.' 

Then there was a fan of Pierrot, Harlequin, and Columbine. It 
brought your heart into your mouth only to see such merry, careless 
faces, as if there were no such thing as trouble, or anxiety, or exiled 
princes, or rival churches, or wicked people, and all that one had to 
do was to tell stories continually, laugh, dance, sing, and make 
merry. I never saw before such happiness depicted on simple 
white silk. It made mte think, somehow, of Mr. Hilyard in the 
evening. After this fan, I cared little about the rest, though the 
parting of Achilles and Briseis was sad, and the death of Cleopatra 
tragic. 

' Now,' said my lord, smiling kindly, as was his wont when he 
was doing something generous—' now that you have seen our pretty 
things, remember that you have not received my etrenne. Will it 
please you make a choice ?' 

I know not whether by accident or design, but Lady Mary and 
the housekeeper were engaged among the silks and old brocades, 
and we were alone. 

' Oh, my lord !' I said, ' I cannot take any of these beautiful 
things. They belong to your house and to your family. They 
must not leave you.' 

' Take all,' he whispered. ' Oh, Dorothy ! take all ; and yet, 
they need not leave me, if in taking them you take me too.' 

Alas ! what could a girl say ? I knew not what to say ; for in 
the great joy of that moment I remembered not — nay, all this time 
I thought not about it, being in a Fool's Paradise — what stood 
between us. 

' Oh, my lord !' was all I could whisper. 

But he stooped and kissed my fingers, and I think that Lady 
Mary saw him, for she came back quickly, a little glow upon her 
faded cheek and a brightness in her eyes ; but said nothing, only 
presently took my hand in hers and pressed it kindly. 

Well, there was no help ; she joined hor nephew in forcing pre 
sents upon me. I chose the fan with Harlequin, Columbine, and 
Pierrot upon it. Why, it lies beside me atill, with its three onca 



NEW YEAR'S DAY. 137 

happy, laughing faces. Long ugo they too have been driven out of 
their Fool's Paradise, like me. The silk has faded ; the pictured 
faces smile no more — they have lost their youth — they are wrinkled 
— they have forgotten how to laugh. When I die, I should like 
that fan to be buried with me. 

Other things they gave me — a ring, a bracelet — what matters 
now ? — with kind words, and praise of beauty and sweet looks. A 
sensible girl knows very well that this flattery is bestowed out of 
goodness of heart, and with the desire of pleasing her ; it does not 
turn her head more than the passing sunshine of the moment, 
though it makes her cheek to glow, her eyes to brighten, and her 
lips to tremble. 

' There were never,' whispered the fond young lover, ' never, I 
swear, finer eyes or sweeter lips.' 

In the evening, when I opened my fan, a paper fell out. My 
lord picked it up and gave it me. Oh ! it was another set of verses, 
and in the same feigned handwriting as the first. He read them, 
affecting as much surprise as on the former occasion : 

' Learn, nymphs, from wondrous Daphne's art 

The uses of the fan, 
Designed to play a potent part 
When she undoes a man. 

' As when the silly trout discerns 

The artificial fly, 
And rises, bites, and too late learns 
The hook that lies hard by ; 

'So man, before whose raptured gaze 

The fan in Daphne's arms, 
Now spreads, now shuts, and now displays, 

And now conceals her charms, 
•Falls, like that siily fish, a prey, 
Yet, happier far than he, 
Adores the hand outstretched to slay 
And dies in ecstasy.' 

CHAPTER XYI. 

A STRANGE THING. 

I CANNOT forbear to mention a thing which happened at this time, 
so strange, so contrary to reason and experience, so far removed 
from the ordinary stories of apparitions and phantoms, that, had I 
not been agitated by a thousand tumultuous joys, I must have been 
thrown by it into great apprehensions, and perhaps have felt com- 
pelled to lay the matter before the Bishop. 

The thing is concerned with my maid Jenny, of course. I have 
already explained that she was an active and faithful maid, clever 
with her needle, a good hairdresser, modest and respectful in her 
behaviour to me, whatever she was to others. With all these 
virtues, it is grievous to remember that if ever a woman was a 



158 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

witch, and had dealings with the devil— why, even Mr. Hilyard, 
who is always most cautious in these matters, confesses that the 
matter is beyond his comprehension, and he knows not how to 
explain it, or what to say of it. Let us remember that at Blanch- 
land she saw apparitions (though others saw none), to the terror of 
the village ; and there also she was said to lead about a rustic whom 
she made do whatever she pleased (this at the time I believed not, 
though now I know that it may be true). And at Dilston she acted 
parts either of her own invention, or imitated people, or declaimed 
what she had heard to such admiration that the men gazed upon 
her with open mouths, and the kitchen-maids dropped the dishes, 
and the elder women crossed themselves. Gipsy blood will show, 
they say ; no doubt these outcasts are in some sort more liable than 
the rest of us to diabolical possession, and it is by this, and no 
other way, that they are enabled to read the future, predict fortunes, 
and above all, to bewitch a man and make him do whatsoever they 
please. 

It was on the morning after this day of gifts — a gloomy and 
cloudy morning, with mist lying over the Devilswater and the 
meadow beneath the Hall ; the gentlemen were in the fields shoot- 
ing ; Lady Katharine was, I suppose, in the chapel ; Lady Mary 
was dozing in her chair ; the maids were all at work below and in 
■Hie kitchens. I, having nothing to do, and a heart troubled but 
full of joy, began to roam by myself about the great house. First 
I went into the library, where few ever sat. Sometimes rny lord 
went thither to spend an hour ; he was a gentleman of parts, and 
possessed as much learning as befits a man of his rank. An earl 
must not be a writer of books or a poet by trade, though he may, 
as Lord Rochester did, write witty and ingenious verses to be 
given to his mistress or to please the Court. Frank Radeliffe was 
often there, and sometimes Mr. Howard. To-day when I opened 
the door I saw the good old priest sleeping beside a great wood fire, 
on his knees a massive volume in calf, with brass clasps— no doubt a 
learned work on theology. So, not to disturb him, I shut the door 
again quite softly, and went along the passages among the many 
old rooms, hung with tapestry, and furnished after an antique style. 
Some of thom were occupied, but for the most part they were 
empty, and I looked curiously into them, half afraid of the deep 
shadows, in which ghosts might linger. If I entered these silent 
chambers, I peeped hurriedly into the mirrors, fearful lest, as has 
happened to many honest people, I might see a second face in 
addition to my own, or, which is worse than a whole procession of 
ghosts, not my own face at all, but quite another one — a strange, a 
threatening, and an angry face — or the face of a demon. I have 
often prayed to be protected from this form of visitation, of which 
I could tell many stories, but refrain, merely saying that it is a sure 
indication of great disaster thus to see a strange and angry face in 
the mirror instead of your own. 

The house being so silent, the air without so misty, and tha 
rooms so dark, it is not woudeifal tint I i<i-o.-:eat]y fell into that 



A STRANGE Tffln'G. 139 

expectant spirit in which nothing seems strange, so that if all my 
ancestors on the Radcliffe side had with one consent marched up 
the corridor to greet me, I should have taken it as nothing out of 
the way or even unexpected. It is a condition of mind into which 
it is easy to fall when one is in a reverie. 

Now, as I walked along the passage, I became aware of a voice : 
it was a low voice, which I knew very well, but did not remember 
whose it was (when one's head was full of Lord Derwentwater, 
could one remember the voice of a servant-maid?). Without 
following or seeking after that voice, I walked by accident straight 
to the room whence it came, and the door being open, and I not 
thinking one way or the other whether I ought to look or whether 
I ought not, I not only looked in at the door, but I walked into the 
room. Truly I was as one in a dream. 

The thing which I saw awakened me from my dream, and I 
started and was seized with a horror the like of which I never felt 
before and hope never to feel again ; because I saw with my own 
eyes the bewitching of a man by a woman. 

It was a large low room without much furniture, and I think it 
had once been used for a children's room, for there were little chairs 
about, and broken toys. There were only two persons in the room : 
one of the two was Frank Radcliffe, and the other was none other, 
if you please, than Jenny, my own maid. That Frank should con- 
descend to hold conversation at all with this black-eyed gipsy girl 
might have filled me with wonder ; yet I was not so young or t-.o 
innocent (what country girl is?) as not to know that young gentle- 
men will often stoop to rustic wenches, to their own shame and the 
just ruin of the latter. But Frank was not like many of our young 
bloods, a mere hunting and shooting creature, born to destroy 
vermin for the farmers and provide game for the table. He was a 
gentleman of high breeding and polished, nay, delicate manners, no 
more capable, one would think, of being led out of himself by the 
flashing eyes of a village beauty than my lord himself ; a scholar 
too, and man of books. Yet here he was ; and with him, Jenny. 
The girl was sitting on a high chair with her back to the door, and 
therefore saw me not ; nor did she hear my footsteps. Before her, 
like a boy at school before his master, stood the young man. To 
think that she should sit, and he be standing ! But oh, heavens ! 
what ailed him ? His eyes were open, and he gazed straight before 
him, so that he looked into my face, but he seemed to see nothing ; 
his arms were hanging motionless ; he stood erect, like a soldier 
with a pike in waiting for the word of command ; his cheek was 
pale : he seemed as one whose soul had fled while his body waits for 
its return, or as one entranced, or as one who walks in his sleep. 
Yet, for the strange feeling upon me, as if anything might happen 
and nothing was wonderful, I stood where I was and looked on in 
silence, though what I saw was beyond the power of the mind to 
conceive. 

Were they play-acting ? But in no play-acting that ever I heard 
of does the actor go through his performance with face so motion- 



140 DOROTHY FUKS'lUK. 

less. The play-acting was nothing. Jenny lifted her finger, Frank 
did the same. Jenny folded a paper into a kind of narrow tube 
and gave it him, muttering something in a low voice. Then he put 
the tube to his lips, and made as if he were smoking a pipe. 

Then Jenny made another gesture, and he dropped the paper. 

' Think next,' she said imperiously, ' of my own people, the 
gipsies. I want to know what old granny is doing, and what she is 
saying. If she is making a charm, tell me how she makes it.' 

' There is a gipsy camp,' he replied slowly, but with no change in 
his eyes, ' outside the houses of a village. They have drawn their carts 
round an open space, where there is a great fire and a pot upon it.' 

' And granny — what is granny doing ?' 

' I see an old woman lying upon the boards in one of the carts. 
A young man lies beside her, groaning and twisting about.' 

' What does granny say ?' 

' She bids him cheer up ; for what is a simple flogging at the 
cart- tail when once 'tis over ? And what is a sore back to the 
rheumatism in every bone ?' 

' It is my cousin, Pharaoh Lee,' said Jenny. ' Poor Pharaoh ! He 
has been stealing poultry, no doubt. The back of him should be of 
leather by now, unless backs get the softer for flogging, like a beef- 
steak. Well Leave the camp, and think of my lord, your 

brother. So — where is he ?' 

' He is walking beside Tom Forster, fowling-piece on shoulder. 
But he looks neither to right nor left, and he is not thinking of the 
birds.' 

' What is he thinking of, then ?' 

' He is thinking,' replied Frank, ' of Dorothy. His mind is quite 
full of her. He can think of nothing else. He has told her that 
he loves her, and before she goes away he will tell her so again. 
" Sweet Dorothy !" he says in his mind. " Fair Dorothy ! There 
is none like Dorothy Forster."' 

Now, when I heard these words it seemed to me as if the things 
I saw and heard were ghostly and sent from the other world, where- 
fore I fell into the deadly terror which seizes those who behold 
such things and receive such messages, and I shrieked aloud and fell 
into a swoon, which lasted I know not how long. 

When I came to myself, I was sitting in the chair where Jenny 
(unless it was a vision) had been exercising her witcheries. She 
was kneeling at my feet, beating my palms, and putting a cold wet 
towel to my forehead, with a face full of terror and surprise. 

' Ah !' she said, ' you are better now, my lady.' 

' What is it, Jenny ?' I cried, clutching her hand and looking 
around. ' What is it ? Where is he ?' 

' Where is he ?' she repeated. ' Why — who ?' 

' Mr. Francis Eadcliffe.' 

' Mr. Frank ? Indeed, your ladyship, I know not. I suppose he 
may have gone out with the gentlemen shooting, or perhaps, because 
he is a studious gentleman, he is in the library, or talking, maybe 
to Mr. Hilyard. What should Mr. Frank be doing here r ' 



A STRANGE THING. 141 

' Nay — but I caw him !' 

' Where did you see him ? Oh, madam ! rest a while. Your 
poor head is wandering. You must have had a shock.' 

' I saw him, I say — here with you — wicked girl ! with your sor- 
ceries.' I pushed her from me ; but she looked astonished and not 
guilty at all — which was most strange. 

' Alas ! madam, what sorceries ? I know not what you mean. I 
was in your own room hard by, putting up the lace for your hair, 
which I shall dress by-and-by ' — my own room was close at hand, 
but I had forgotten it — ' when I heard a loud cry and a something 
fall, and ran to help — and oh dear ! — oh dear ! — it was your ladyship 
lying on the floor all by yourself, with a face as white as a sheet.' 

' But I saw him— and you ' 

I looked about the room ; there was certainly no Frank Radcliffe 
there. Then I started to my feet ; the fascination was quite gone ; 
it went away as suddenly as it came. I determined to seek out 
Frank and learn the truth at once. 

' Stay here, shameless girl !' I cried. ' If thou hast lied thou 
shalt leave me this moment, even if the village folk burn thee for 
a witch, as they called thee at Blanchland.' 

I hastened along the passages and down the stairs to the library. 
Oh, most wonderful ! Everything, with one exception, was just as 
I had left it half an hour before. Father Howard slept in the quiet 
corner beside the fire, his great volume on his knee ; on the hearth 
there slowly burned among its white ashes a great log ; the silent 
books stood round the walls, and above them hung the portraits of 
Radcliffes dead and gone ; through the windows I saw the white 
mists hanging over the meadow and the narrow bed of Devilswater. 
Everything the same, except that at a table before one of the win- 
dows sat Frank himself, two or three books before him. 

' Frank !' I cried. 

' Dorothy ! "What is it ? Your cheeks are white and your eyes 
are frightened — what is it, Dorothy ?' 

' How long have you been here, Frank ?' 

' I think all the morning, Dorothy. Why ?' 

" I saw — that is, I thought I saw you, but just now, in the north 
corridor. Perhaps it was imagination. Yet, I thought — were you 
not there, of truth ?' 

' Indeed, I have not left the library since breakfast. I must have 
been asleep, like Mr. Howard, for I find I have not turned the page 
for half an hour and more. Do you think, Dorothy,' he asked 
earnestly, ' that you have seen a ghost ? This Dilston, they say, is 
full of ghosts. But I have seen none, as yet.' 

' I know not,' I replied, ' what I have seen — or what it means. 
Frank — you have told me the truth ?' 

I could not doubt the truth of his straightforward eyes, nor the 
sincerity of his assurance. Wherefore, with a beating heart, I re- 
turned slowly to my own chamber, and found Jenny in tears. I 
thought I must have seemed harsh to her, feeling now certain that 
what I had seen was a visio? r " a disordered brain. Yet, why should 



142 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the brain of a girl newly made happy by tho most noble lover in 
the wo:;ld be disordered ? Therefore I bestowed upon her a frock, 
a hood, and a pair of warm cloth gloves, for a New Year's gift, and 
told her that I must have had some dream or seen some vision, and 
that I blamed her no longer ; though at heart I felt some suspicion 
still, because the dream or vision, if such it had been, remained in 
my mind clear and strong, so that I could not choose but think it 
real. And yet, that Frank should have been in the library since the 
morning and never once left it ! 

In the afternoon I told the whole to Mr. Hilyard, and confessed 
to him that, although I was now certain that I had been deceived 
or that I was under some charm, yet I felt uneasy. He received 
my story with great seriousness, and began to consider what it 
might mean. 

' Truly,' he said, ' if this be a vision, and not a cheat by the girl 
Jenny — but how could she cheat without the assistance of Mr. 
Frank ? — it is a very serious and weighty business. It is a pity 
that you did not, before you swooned away, throw your arms about 
the effigies or apparition of the girl, as was done by Lord Colchester 
about fifty years ago, when he clasped thin air, as Ixion clasped his 
cloud. We may not doubt that warnings may take various shapes. 
Thus it is related on good authority from Portsmouth that a gentle- 
man of that place has been lately troubled by the apparition of a 
man who constantly pursues him and reproaches him for some 
secret crime ; and Colonel Radcliffe affords another instance, who 
is also followed continually by some unseen enemy. There is also 
the authentic story of the ghost of Madam Bendish, of East Ham, 
near London, who lately appeared to an old gentleman there, and 
bade him reprove an obstinate son with Proverbs, one, two, and 
three. There was also, only a short time ago, the young gentleman 
of All Hallows, Bread Street Parish, who had a vision of a burial, 
the cloth held by four maids, which came true of himself. And the 
ghost of Thomas Chambers, of Chesham, in Buckinghamshire, was 
after his death seen by many, but especially the maid of the house, 
leaning, in a melancholy posture, against a tree, attired in the same 
cap and dress in which they laid him out. We may no more deny 
these appearances than we may deny the existence of the soul or 
our immortal hopes. Besides which, if more testimony were wanted, 
Plutarch, Apuleius, and all the Roman and Grecian histories are 
full of such instances.' 

' But, Mr. Hilyard, is there any like my otto V 

' I know not one,' he replied thoughtfully : ' for there i3 no 
threat, nor any call for repentance. You have nothing to do with 
gipsies and flogging of backs ; and there remains the friendly and 
comfortable assurance, if I may make so bold as to say so, of my 
lord's disposition and affection — of which I, for one, have long been 
fully certain. So, Miss Dorothy, I would advise and counsel that 
nothing more be said or thought about this strange thing, especially 
to the girl, lest she be pulled up with conceit and vanity.' 

What happened that same day was this, though I heard it i\ot till 



A STRANGE THING. 143 

long afterwards. Mr. Hilyard, on leaving me, repaired to a quiet 
chamber, where he would be undisturbed, and then sent for Jenny 
to attend him. 

She came in fear and trembling. 

' Now,' he said, shaking his fore-finger in a very terrible way, 
' what is this I hear about Mr. Francis and yourself ':' 

' I know nothing, sir,' she began. 

' About the camp, now.' 

' If Miss Dorothy thought she heard Mr. Frank tell me about my 
cousin Pharaoh's back, she must have dreamed it.' 

' Now, girl, thou art caught. Know that your mistress said not 
one word to you of Pharaoh and his back, which I hope hath been 
soundly lashed for his many thieveries. Therefore, since I know it, 
because she told me, and since she hath not told you, pray, how do 
you know it ? Girl, on your knees and confess, or worse will 
happen to thee.' 

Upon this she burst into tears, fell upon her knees, and confessed 
a most wonderful thing, which made Mr. Hilyard's very wig to 
stand on end, so strange it was. 

She owned that she possessed, having learned it from her grand- 
mother, a strange and mysterious power over certain persons ; that 
she amused herself with trying it upon various men ; that there 
was a poor fellow at Blanchland whom she could make to fetch and 
carry at her will ; but that there was no one over whom she had 
greater power than over Mr. Frank. 

Being asked if he knew, she denied it, saying that, although it 
pleased him to converse with her sometimes, and to learn from her 
the secrets of palmistry, and other little things which he persuaded 
her to teach him, he had no knowledge of the trance into which she 
could throw him at will ; and that, during that period, he could tell 
her what people were doing anywhere in the world, and what were 
their thoughts ; that she was exercising this gift of sorcery, the 
power of which belongs only to the gipsies, and to few among them, 
when Miss Dorothy surprised her ; that she hastened to send Mr. 
Frank, still unconscious, back to the library, so that, when he re- 
turned to himself, he knew not that anything had happened ; and 
thereby she was able to deceive her mistress. 

' In the name of Heaven, child !' cried Mr. Hilyard in affright, 
' hast thou such a power over me ?' 

Jenny swore she had none, nor was like to have if she tried ; and 
that she would never try upon him, being afraid of detection ; nor 
jpon his honour, Mr. Forster, as in duty bound ; nor upon her 
mistress. But that, as to this young gentleman, he forced himself 
upon her, coming continually to her, and begging to have the future 
revealed, either by cards, or by the lines of his hand, or the shape 
of his head, or the circumstances of his birth ; and then nothing 
would satisfy him but to know, and to learn for himself how, and 
by what rules and observations, these things were done ; so that he 
laid himself directly open, as it were, to the Evil One ; and when 
the young witch, for so cue must now think her, essayed her art 



144 UUKUlttY 1'VKS/ UK. 

upon him, he fell a ready victim. Lastly, the girl implored Mr, 
Hilyard, with many tears, and on her bended knees, to forgivo her, 
promising that never again would she speak with Mr. Frank, nor 
practise upon him this truly diabolical art, on penalty of being 
instantly dismissed the service of Miss Dorothy, and haled before a 
Justice of the Peace to be dealt with as a witch. 

Well, Mr. Hilyard, as he afterwards confessed, was greatly con- 
cerned at this narrative, which surprised as well as terrified him. 
First, he endeavoured to convince the girl that she was in the hands 
of the Evil One, who would infallibly, unless she repented, bring 
her to such sufferings as she could not yet even dream of ; next, 
that it was the height of presumption for her to exercise this 
dreadful power upon a young gentleman ; thirdly, he promised to 
consider what was best to bo done, and, if he could, to hide the fact, 
on her faithful promise to abstain for the future, to fast once a 
week for six months for penance, and to pray night and morning to 
be delivered from the Devil. So he dismissed her. 

' Next,' he told me afterwards, ' I fell to thinking how dreadful a 
thing it must be to possess this power, and how constant a tempta- 
tion there would be to use it for one's own advantage, or to gratify 
malice, revenge, and private spite : so that, if all possessed it, for 
one who would use it for the public good a hundred would use it 
for their own selfish ends. Further, that an unfortunate creature 
under this power, and compelled by this influence, might commit 
the most horrible crimes and know nothing about it. Why, many 
a poor wretch may have been hanged for things done by command 
of her who had bewitched him. And as for me, I confess (which 
shows my unworthiness) that I forgot the wickedness of tempting 
the Lord and the sin of Saul, and longed to consult so strange an 
oracle on my own account. From this I was protected by Grace.' 

For my own part, I resolved to say nothing about it, thinking 
that we should leave Dilston in a few days, and that meanwhile I 
would watch diligently, and prevent the meeting together in any 
place of the girl and Mr. Frank. But she gave me no more trouble, 
and I think there was not another meeting before we went away. 

CHAPTER XVII 

HE LOVE8 MB. 

Of all pleasant things upon the earth, there comcth an end in time. 
Nay, the more pleasant are the things, the shorter they are, and the 
faster do they hasten away. This is wisely ordained lest we forget 
in the present the joys which await us, greater than mind can con- 
ceive or tongue can utter, in the world to come. Whereas I, foi 
my part, by foretaste, and, as it were, by looking through the gates 
of Paradise (which I certainly was permitted to do while my lord 
bestowed his affections upon me), am privileged above my less 
fortunate fellow-creatures to know something of the grateful, 
happy, and contented heart of thoso who wear the golden crown 
and play upon the golden harp. 



HE LOVES ME. 145 

As the time drew near for us to go, it seemed as if everybody 
multiplied kindness. The two ladies gave me more pretty things 
with generous words, and Lady Mary whispered, pressing my hand, 
' My dear, remember that a Radcliffe must always be a Catholic,' 
and I said ' Yes ; that I knew it well,' thinking that she meant only 
that her nephew must not be converted to the Church of England 
by me. Lady Katharine took both my hands in hers, and kissed 
me on the forehead, saying that no doubt I should be led, by plea- 
sant ways, to see the beauty and joyfulness of that Fold wherein 
alone poor sinful man could find peace and rest for his soul. This, 
too, I took for little meaning, because she was so good and so pious 
a woman that she wished everybody to belong to her own Church. 
Nor did I yet understand what was meant by the text which forbids 
an unequal yoke. Certainly, we who had been brought up among 
so many Catholics, seeing them no worse (if no better) in honour, 
loyalty, and virtue than ourselves, were not likely to consider a man 
an unbeliever because he attended Mass. To this day, though I have 
long pondered upon the matter, I cannot quite persuade myself 
that St. Paul, when he set down certain instruction of his command, 
was thinking of the Pope and his followers. No ; I was thinking 
if I turned my thoughts at all in that direction, which I doubt, that 
my lord might go to Dilston Chapel and I to Hexham Church, a 
separation painful in the idea, but doubtless it would be made 
tolerable in time. 

Mr. Errington, of Beaufront, hinted at the matter more plainly. 
He said that he was rejoiced to find that my lord's fancy was so 
soon, and so happily, fixed. That the Forsters were fully the equals 
of the Kadcliffes, though there was not yet an earl or a baion among 
them. 

' My dear,' he said, being an old gentleman of a very soft heart, 
anxious to make ladies happy when he could — ' my dear, I knew 
and loved Lady Crewe ten years before she married the Bishop : a 
beautiful creature, indeed, she was, and full of great majesty, yet 
not so beautiful as you, my second Dorothy, believe me. For thou 
art as sweet, and gracious withal, as she was dignified. "We country 
gentlemen were too rude and plain of speech for her. I blame her 
not, and she was born to be a Peeress, as was manifest by her beauty 
and the awe with which she surrounded herself, as you, my child, 
for your beauty too, and for your sweetness. Hath my lord told you 
that your smile is like the sunshine on a field of growing corn?' 

' Oh, sir !' I replied, ' my lord hath paid me many sweet compli- 
ments, and I think my head is half turned.' 

' Nay ; a beautiful woman cannot rejoice too much in her beauty. 
See now, Miss Dorothy ; we are all of us pleased that my lord shall 
marr; a North-country maiden, one of ourselves : the marriage of 
his father was not happy : we desire to keep all Radcliffcs to the 
north ; moreover, generous as he is, it cannot be denied that his 
lordship does not know our gentlemen and their ways : nor our 
people and their ways : he mn«t put oif a little of the Versailles 
manner and descend to plain folk.* 



1 46 DOROTHY FORS TER. 

' Oh !' I declared, ' one would not wish him altered one jot from 
what he is.' 

' Nay, keep him as he is ; but make him something more. It is 
not enough to give ; he must understand his people. Well, he can 
have no kinder schoolmaster. Pretty Dorothy ! Thy blushes become 
thee, child, as its bloom becomes the peach. As for the one obstacle, 
to my mind it needs not to be named. One religion will take a 
man to heaven as well as another, though Mr. Howard would not 
acknowledge it ; and I am a Catholic, and should not say so. Let 
not pride prevent the removal of that obstacle. A religion held by 
so goodly a part of Christendom cannot be wrong ; and you shall 
be rewarded with the noblest ycung lover that exists, I believe, in 
the whole world.' 

1'his speech chilled my spirits very considerably. For to change 
my religion — what would her ladyship say ? What, my father ? 
what, my brother Tom ? what, the Bishop ? Yet what matter 
what all together said, if it made my lord happy ? And so, at the 
moment, it seemed a small thing and easy to change one's articles 
of religion and accept the chains of the Roman Faith. 

Next, Mr. Howard sought me and begged a word. He said, 
speaking very gravely, that no one could affect ignorance of the 
fact that my lord was fully possessed with the idea of a certain 
lady ; that the subject was much in his own mind ; that, on the 
one hand, it was greatly to be hoped that he would ally himself to 
a family of the north, and with a gentlewoman whose good sense 
and moderation would prevent him from falling into the snares 
always laid for such as his lordship. But these dangers were in- 
creased in his case by his ignorance of England and the English 
people ; for example, that there was, he believed, great exaggera- 
tion as to the strength of the Prince's cause, and therefore great 
caution must be observed as to any decisive movement ; that he 
believed myself— that certain lady, namely — capable of giving good 
and wise counsel, and he earnestly prayed — at this point of his 
discourse the tears came into his eyes — that should the thing which 
he suspected proceed farther, such a measure of light and grace 
might be accorded to that young lady as to lead her to the bosom 
of the ancient Church — with more to the same effect, and all with 
such earnestness and so much affection towards my lord and his 
interests, as moved me, too, to tears ; especially when this venerable 
man spake of the fellowship in the Church of Christ, one and in- 
divisible, so much was I moved, so deeply did I feel the beauty of 
the pictures which he drew, that I verily believe, had he on the 
spot offered to receive me — if that offer had been made in the 
presence of my lord himself — alas ! one knows not ; woman is at 
best a weak creature, easy to be led — but there might have been 
one more Catholic in the world ; there might have been a happy 
bride : yet, as we may not choose but believe, and as the Bishop 
himself has often said, things are directed for us ; we know not for 
what reason we are guided ; nor can wo toll in the groat scheme of 
the universe what part even so insignificant a thing as a young 



HE LOVES ME. 147 

woman (though of good family) may be called upon to play. His 
lordship was not present ; Mr. Howard did not oiler to take me to 
the chapel ; and so, with tears on both sides, we parted. Yet it 
must be confessed that I knelt to receive his blessing as if he had 
been the Bishop of Durham himself. When one converses with 
Papists like Mr. Howard, men so gentle, so blameless in life and 
conversation, so learned and so benevolent, one wonders about the 
hard things said daily of the ancient Church ; one forgets the cruel 
fires of Smithfield ; one even forgets the Spanish Inquisition itself. 
It is not till afterwards that one asks if it would be possible, even 
for the sake of a lover, to belong to a Church which yearly tortures 
and strangles and burns men whose only crime is to think for them- 
selves. How can these things be ? How can the same Church 
produce at once, in the same generation, such a man as Mr. Howard 
and such as the Grand Inquisitor ? 

Then Frank Radcliffe cam';. 

' I am right sorry you are going, he said. ' The place will be 
dull without you, Dorothy. My lord will hang his head and mope. 
[ shall have no one to talk with. But you will come back soon. 
Promise me that, Dorothy. You know very well what I mean. 
Come back and make us all happy.' 

' Indeed,' said I ; ' would my coming back make yon all happy ?' 

' First,' he said, ' it would make my brother happy, because he is 
in love with you ; next, me, because I love you too, and just as 
well, but a man must give way to his elder brother ; next, because 
Charles also loves you, and swears he is your knight till death ; and 
next, on account of my aunts, who will be happy if the Earl is 
happy. All of us, fair Dorothy.' 

' But, Frank — it is good of you to say this—but remember that 
I know not what my lord may intend ; and if it were as you say, 
there would be much to consider.' 

' Oh, the Mass — the Mass !' he replied impatiently. ' "When one 
is brought up in the Fold, one troubles one's head little about these 
things. To give up the Church would be a great thing, but surely 
there can be no trouble about coming back to it.' 

This shows how prejudiced the mind may become, when ac- 
customed to the pretensions of Rome. But I was better brought up. 

It cannot be denied that the contemplation of this amiable family, 
all combined in pressing upon me to accept what I most of all things 
in the world desired to obtain, was very moving to me ; and when 
i T iOrd Derwentwater himself conversed with me on the subject, I 
■was, I now confess, ready to yield unconditional submission. If 
men only knew the weakness of women, they could make them say 
or do what they please. But perhaps men themselves are not so 
strong as they seem to be. Indeed, that must be so. 

' Fair Daphne,' my lover began, ' it is sad indeed to think that 
to-morrow thou must go from as. The sun will shine no more in 
Dilston.' 

' Oh, my lord,' I said, ' do not talk any moro the language of 
gallantry ; y©u have spoiled me enough, I am but g'lpJn Tor» 



I4» WROTH Y tUKSiiiK. 

Forster's sister, and in Northumberland we are not accustomed to 
your fine French compliments. Let me, however, thank your lord- 
ship for your very great kindness both to my brother and to myself.' 

' Let there be no longer, then,' he said, and as he spoke his beau- 
tiful eyes grew so soft and his voice so sweet that oh ! my heart 
melted clean away, and I could have fallen at his feet, even like 
Esther at the feet of the great King, and that without shame — 
' let there be no longer compliments between us. You shall be no 
more the nymph Daphne ; you shall be, what you are, only Tom 
Forster's sister — only the beautiful and incomparable Dorothy, 
whom I love.' 

' Oh, my lord ! Think — I am no great lady of fashion— you 
would be ashamed of your rustic passion in a week.' 

' Ashamed ! Why, Dorothy, with their paint and patches and 
powder, there is not, believe me, in all Versailles and Paris, to say 
nothing of London, which I know not — there is nowhere, I swear, 
a woman fit to hold a candle beside so sweet a face as yours. My 
dear, thou art — no, I will not make any more compliments. But, 
Dorothy, I love thee.' And with that he fell upon his knee, and 
began to kiss my hand, murmuring softly, ' I love thee, my dear — I 
love thee with all my heart.' 

' Oh, my lord!' I repeated, the fatal words having been spoken, 
overwhelmed with a kind of terror and awe and shame, because 
why should he love me so much ? ' You love me — you love me — 
alas ! how can it be ? What shall I say — what shall I say ?' 

' Say only, my dear, that you will love me in return.' 

Then there arose in my mind, doubtless sent by Heaven, the 
memory of certain words spoken by Mr. Hilyard concerning the 
Church of England — how that it was as ancient as the Church of 
Rome, and as safe, and yet unstained by the blood of martyrs. 
Also, I seemed to see before me the awful form of the Bishop, tall 
and menacing, beckoning me away. 

' Speak, Dorothy, my dear — oh, Dorothy, speak ! Why are you 
trembling ? Merciful Heaven ! have I said anything to terrif y this 
tender heart? What troubles my love ?' 

' Oh, Lord Derwentwater, it is— the Mass !' 

He let my hand fall, and for a moment he was silent. Then he 
began again, hotly : 

' The Mass ! Is it a Mass shall part us ? Why, child, I love thee 
so well that I will give up Church and all for thy sweet sake if thou 
wilt not give up thy Church for mine. The Mass against thy hand ! 
Nay, I too will become of the English Church. Thou hast con- 
verted me already.' 

Was there ever so fond and true a lover ? But I remembered 
again what he had said, months before, at Blanchland. 

'No, no,' 1 replied, 'you cannot. Other men, smaller men, may 
change their faith, but you must not. Remember what you told 
me once ' 

' Doth my sweet Dorothy remember even my idle words ? All 
my words are idle except my last— that I love thee.' 



HE LOVES ME. i 49 

1 Do I remember them, my lord ? — as if I could ever forget them ! 
You said, without knowing then what the words might some day 
mean, that I could persuade you to anything except what concerns 
your honour, and that your honour is concerned with your faith. 
Never — never shall it be said that I sought to turn you aside from 
your honour. My lord, if you seriously think of such a thing, put 
it out of your mind. Oh ! what is a foolish, worthless girl com- 
pared with the career and the history of a great lord like yourself ?' 

He would have replied to this in the same hot strain, for there 
was now in his eyes the hot flame of love that will not be denied — 
the masterful look which frightens women, and compels them (yet 
I think he would never have compelled me to accept the sacrifice he 
offered) — but Mr. Howard stepped between us. He had, I suppose, 
entered unseen, and heard the last words. 

'I thank you, young lady,' he said, 'in the name of a greater even 
than his lordship ; the Holy Church thanks you. I would that all 
her daughters were as noble and as truly great as yourself. My 
lord, your passion is honourable, as becomes your rank. You would 
neither do yourself, nor ask Miss Dorothy to do, what in her con- 
science she would not approve.' 

Lord Derwaatwater answered not. 

' Part here, my children,' Mr. Howard continued ; ' enough has 
been said. You, my lord, can afford to wait six months. If your 
passion be what you think it to be, six months is a short time indeed 
for meditation and endeavour to make yourself worthy of this 
young lady. And for you, Miss Dorothy, I pray you to read the 
books which I shall give you. Believe me, you have my prayers, 
my earnest prayers, and those of the two saintly ladies of this house. 
In six months my lord, if he be in the same mind, and unless you 
have already sent him away, will look for your reply.' 

Lord Derwentwater, without a word, fell on his knee again, and 
kissed my fingers. Then he left the room with bowed head. 

' Not the chief of the Radcliftes only, but also his wife and his 
children and grandchildren must remain in the ancient Catholic 
Faith,' said Mr. Howard gravely. 

And then I understood, for the first time fully, that the passion 
of my lord, however vehement, would never, by those greater than 
himself, be allowed to imperil his adherence to the old religion. 
Alas ! just as poor Frank had said, ' You play with us, you feast 
with us, you sport with us ; but you will not allow us to fight for 
you, or to make laws for you, to administer justice to you.' So I 
thought bitterly that I might say, as a Protestant, to the Catholics, 
' You play with us, you feast with us, you make love to ua ; but you 
will not marry us.' 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A CASK OF CONSCIENCE. 

So, after a hmg ride of three days, we arrived again at Bamborougb 
— what things had I seen since last we left the Manor House !— and 
in the quiet life as of old I had leisure to read and reflect upon the 



1 50 DOR O Til Y FORS TER. 

tracts and books given to me by Mr. Howard. In so far as they 
spoke of obedience to authority, then truly I was entirely at one 
with his friends, because I had always been brought up to submit 
myself dutifully to those in authority, and especially my spiritual 
pastors and masters. Yet I was thankful that our own rule was so 
light and our yoke so easy to be borne compared with the practices 
imposed upon the faithful in that other flock— as fasting throughout 
Lent, and on Fridays, and on many other days in the year. But 
when the books spoke of Early Fathers, and writings almost sacred, 
and Decretals, and so forth, then was I lost ; because if these things 
were true, why was not the Lord Bishop converted long since, and 
the A r icar of Bamborough ? And if things were not true, as 
were therein stated, why was not the Pope himself long since con- 
verted ? Ah ! how happy a thing it would be for the whole world 
if the Pope could be converted ! There would then be no more 
Inquisitions, no more tortures, no more quarrels, no more parting 
of lovers. The Bishop of Rome would be but as the Bishop of 
Canterbury — and this is a foolish woman's idle dream. 

Truly, I was little forwarded for all my reading. I had no one 
•with whom I could consult, because, as my lord's proposals had not 
been made either to Tom or to my father, they were in a manner 
secret, at least for six months. Strange that Tom suspected nothing. 
Never was there at any time a man whose thoughts ran less upon 
love or anything to do with love ; and as he never fell in love him- 
self (which in the sequel proved a fortunate circumstance), so he 
never thought that any would fall in love with his sister. Still less 
would it appear to him possible that this could be the case with so 
great and exalted a man as Lord Derwentwater, for whom he enter- 
tained a profound veneration in spite of continual assurances, made 
to gratify his own vanity, that a Forster was as good as a Kadcliil'e 
(which no one has ever doubted, I believe). 

For a time, therefore, I meditated alone upon this important 
matter. It would be foolish to deny that I was greatly taken by 
the prospect which thus suddenly and unexpectedly opened out 
before my eyes. Natural pride in my own family forbade any feel- 
ing of inferiority — that James Radcliffe was the third earl was only 
owing to his father's marriage with King Charles's daughter, whe 
must needs have a husband among the Peers. The first baronet ot 
the House received this title after — not before — the honour ol 
knighthood was conferred upon Sir Claudius Forster. There was 
therefore, no inequality as to family ; and as for lands, possessions, 
and wealth, it may be truly said that these entered little into mj 
mind. But I acknowledge that my imagination was fired with tht 
person and the qualities possessed by the owner of this coronet anc 
these lands ; and never since have I looked upon the like of thai 
noble gentleman — call him rather a prince — in whom were gatherec 
together so many virtues without one defect. I felt in some son 
even ashamed that such a man might offer his hand and service t< 
one simple and inexperienced as I was, a mere gentlewoman witt 
nothing but my beauty (such as that might be) and my virtue am 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 151 

piety (why, there was the rnb) to recommend me. He knew Courts, 
and the great ladies of Versailles and St. Germain's. Was there one 
of them too high for him ? Was there, among the greatest ladies of 
the proudest aristocracy in the world, even the Rohans, the Mont- 
„norencies, or the Lusignans, any who would not be honoured by 
such an offer from James Radcliffe, Earl of Derwentwater? 

To refuse it would seem madness ; yet to accept it would be — 
might be — a sin so great that it would never be forgiven. It is 
cruel when religion is pitted against love, and when a girl has to 
choose between her lover and ber hopes of heaven. 

For who can be converted by merely wishing ? Who, by argu- 
ment, reading, or thinking, can put away from his mind the 
doctrines in which he hath boon brought up from childhood ? A 
woman might bring herself to hear Mass, to call herself a Catholic, 
to confess, to submit to the Church for the sake of her lover and 
her husband ; but with what despair must she look forward to that 
day when she must give up the pretence, and confess the falsehood 
of her life before an offended Judge ! 

I had from infancy been taught, and r ow firmly held, the 
doctrines of the Christian faith as professed by iiie Church of 
England. By what reasoning could I, unassisted, exchange these 
for the Roman Catholic doctrines ? And, even if assisted — say by 
Mr. Howard— with what face could I ever afterwards meet the 
Bishop, and own to him that the authority of this simple Romish 
priest had more weight for me than the authority of himself, the 
great and lordly Bishop of Durham ? Or with what reply could I 
meet the charge that I had thrown away my religion to get me a 
lover ? Oh, shame ! Yet such a lover ! 

The soul can play all manner of juggling tricks with herself. 
Therefore it is not wonderful that a woman should be led away for 
a time with cases and arguments which at first looked pretty 
enough, yet soon crumbled into dust and ashes. As that Naaman 
was allowed to go with his master into the Temple of Rimmon, 
though it is nowhere stated that he was to profess the worship of 
that idol, whoever he may be. (Mr. Hilyard said it was the Pome- 
granate and the symbol of fertility ; but who would be so foolish 
as to worship a mere fruit? Naaman's master must surely have 
been better than a fool.) And again, the example of Henry IV of 
France, which hath misled many. Truly no more wicked speech 
could have been made than that of his, in which he spoke of valuing 
the crown of France at more than a Mass. Put against this the 
noble example of Queen Elizabeth, who, in the reign of Queen 
Mary, went daily in peril of her life, yet would not give up the 
Protestant religion ; and, if you will, the examples of King James 
II. and his son, who gave up three crowns rather than relinquish 
the faith which they (wrongly) believed to be true. There is no 
help for it, I suppose, but that women brought up in the Roman 
Faith must needs abide in it. How much the more, then, that we, 
who belong to the Pure and Reformed branch of the Universal 
Church, should cling to it as the only hops of our souls ! As for 



152 DORO 77/ V fiUA'S-J KK. 

controversy, Mr. Hilyard once said well, ' There is nothing more 
excellent than religion ; but to raise quarrels over it is to dishonour 
it. Why should that which is designed to make us happy in another 
world make us miserable in this? Wherefore it comes to this, that 
we shall never all be perfectly happy till we are all agreed upon the 
Thirty-nine Articles of the Faith.' 

When that happy event will happen none can predict— perhaps 
not till long after the present century — a third part of which is, 
while I write these words, already gone ; perhaps not till the nine- 
teenth century itself is drawing to a close, and the end of all things 
is approaching. 

Then I laid the case, but with feigned names and false circum- 
stances, before Mr. Hilyard. I inquired of him his opinion as to 
change of creed in general, whether there were no cases in which it 
would be allowed (always supposing that reason and conscience 
went the other way). Thus I put before him (as if the Prince was 
in my mind) the case of a sovereign whose conversion, real or pre- 
tended, would bring happiness to his country ; or a godly minister 
whose obedience to tl e law would secure his services to his helpless 
parishioners ; or a bishop who, by outward conforming, might keep 
moderate doctrines m his diocese; or a gentleman who, by pro- 
fessing himself of the Church of England, might obtain a commis- 
sion of the Queen, and so rise to great honour ; or a woman who, 
by acknowledging a faith in which her conscience forbade her to 
engage, might make her lover happy, and perhaps, in the event, lead 
him to her own Church. 

There never, surely, was a man stronger in the cause of virtue 
than Mr. Hilyard. If there were more like him, the wickedness of 
the age would long since have wholly vanished. As for the example 
of his private life, it becomes not a fellow-sinner to judge. If we 
may compare small with great, it cannot be denied that the King 
who wrote (by Divine guidance) the most perfect book of rules for 
the conduct of life, did by no means set a pattern of self-denial in 
his own practice. So with Mr. Hilyard. 

I put forward my question with much confusion and many 
blushes, because I feared that Mr. Hilyard might guess the cause 
and secret purpose of my simulated cases. He answered not for 
some moments, looking earnestly into my face. Then he, too, 
changed colour, and gave his answer, walking about the room and 
in some agitation of manner which surprised mo. 

' As for the cases advanced,' he said, ' there are none to be for a 
moment considered, except the last. The King who sacrificed his 
conscience to his ambition laid open a way to greater evils. Heaven 
raised up in Henry IV. a champion for the Protestant Faith second 
only to that great and god-like man, Coligny. Had he adhered, the 
wars might have continued and France might have been partitioned ; 
but the Protestants would have won their freedom. The duty of a 
minister is clearly indicated in the history and example of Mr. 
Gilpin, of Houghton-le-Spring, who per.se vered in his Protestant 
teaching throughout the reign of Bloody Mary, «ver keeping ready 



A CASE OF CONSCIEXCE. 153 

& white shirt in which to present a comely appearance at the stake. 
Yet, being haled up to London, he broke his leg, which, causing 
him to lie in bed, saved his life, because Mary died, and good Queen 
Bess succeeded. As for a young gentleman of a Catholic family, 
we have,' he said, ' many instances around us of those who, for want 
of a profession, pass idle and ignoble lives, as if drinking and sport 
were the only objects for which man, a rational being, was created. 
But as for their consciences, you must please to excuse me. I 
doubt much whether the conscience of such a young gentleman 
would trouble him so much as his sense of honour ; and once entered 
upon the roll of a regiment, there would be mighty little further 
question as to religion. The English armies,' he added, ' are Protes- 
tant to the backbone. That cannot be denied. Yet how far their 
lives and daily conversation are guided by their religion, and how 
far their practice is conversant with their profession, I am not 
prepared to say. If, therefore, Miss Dorothy, any of his 
honour's Catholic friends are minded to renounce the Pope, in 
order to bear a pike or carry the colours, encourage them by all 
means.' 

' There remains,' he went on to say, ' the last case.' Again he 
stopped, and again earnestly gazed upon my face. 'I am not, I 
confess, skilled in casuistry ; nor can I advise as to the case. Yet, 
were it to arise, I would advise the woman to whom it occurs to 
take the matter seriously in hand, and if she have friends and rela- 
tions in authority and high places, to lay the decision before them, 
as one which affects not her happiness only or the happiness of her 
lover, but also her conscience and her soul.' He said this very 
seriously, so that his words fell deeply into my heart. 

' I know,' he went on, ' that a beautiful woman can persuaxJe a 
man who loves her to any course which she desires ; for which 
cause Kings are led by their mistresses, and, in Catholic countries, 
the mistresses are guided by the priests. We need not go back to 
consider the case of Achilles, of Samson, iEneas, David, Marc 
Antony, and Solomon. There are instances enough of our own 
times. Witness our own Charles II., and the Grand Monarque 
himself, now a slave to Madame de Maintenon. Truly, Miss 
Dorothy, an amorous man is like a weathercock in the hands of the 
woman whom he loves. Wherefore the poets have rightly feigned 
that love turns one into a boar, and another into an ass, and a third 
into a wolf — why, the French King hath been boar, wolf, and ass 
in turn. But, you may argue, the virtuous love of one woman and 
one man is not to be compared with the fleeting amours of a King. 
That is indeed true ; not the less is it true that the woman able to 
fix the affections of one who, though a husband, remains a lover, 
may lead him whithersoever she pleases. The case, Miss Dorothy, 
is too high for me. If I were a Jesuit, I should say, " The end 
justifies the means ; let the maiden confer happiness upon the man, 
relying on her strength to lead him into a better way." But I am 
an English Churchman, and I doubt. The rule is laid down plain 
for all to read, " The lip of truth shall be established for ever, but a 



154 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

lying tongue is but for a moment." "Wherefore let this yoang 
gentlewoman seek counsel of those in authority.' 

Mr. Hilyard said this with so much gravity that his words sank 
into my heart, and I began to ask myself seriously whether, even 
for my lover, I ought to do so grave a thing. For several days 
afterwards I observed that he was agitated, and would go a-walking 
by himself in the garden, shaking his forefinger as he went, as one 
does who is in trouble. I knew very well, poor man, that he was 
in trouble about me, and that he had divined my secret. 

I followed not his advice, however, in asking the counsel of those 
in authority. Rather I put the decision off, as is the custom of 
women when in a doubt. Time, accident, authority, would decide. 
Again, a woman must not for ever be thinking about her love 
affairs. Was there not my brother Tom to think of ? Then came 
the spring, and June was upon us, and my lord's visit was to come 
within a very little while, and I was no nearer the Altar and the 
Mass (yet open to persuasion) than I had been at the New Year. 

I know not how Lady Crewe became possessed of my secret, and 
therefore I was greatly astonished when I received, only the day 
before my lord arrived, the following letter, sent to me all the way 
from Durham by special messenger. The letter, wrapped in three 
folds of paper, was superscribed : ' These for the private eye of my 
niece, Dorothy Forster.' I opened it with such fear and trembling 
as always seize the person who receives a letter. And all the more 
because I knew from whence it came, and guessed quickly what it 
might contain. 

' My dear and loving Niece,' the letter began, — ' It hath been 
brought to my knowledge that a young gentleman, whose name 
need not be mentioned between us, is desirous of making thee an 
offer of his hand and estate. The hand is most honourable and the 
estate is goodly. Also the young gentleman is reported to possess 
virtues and accomplishments quite uncommon even among those of 
exalted rank. For these reasons the Bishop and myself would 
be willing to give our approval to the proposal as one likely to lead 
to the earthly happiness of both, although the suitor is still a man 
in very early manhood. My own happiness, as my niece know? 
very well, has been obtained by marriage with a man forty years 
my senior, and immeasurably above what any woman can hope in 
wisdom, benevolence a >1 true piety. Yet I say not that happiness 
may not be had between persons more nearly of an age — when, that is, 
the husband is able to inspire respect, if not awe, and the wife is 
filled with the desire of doing her duty according to the submission 
enjoined by Apostolic law. 

' There is, however, in this case, the difficulty that the young 
gentleman is a Catholic, and may not marry any outside the pale oi 
his own Church. Nor can he, being bound in honour, change the 
faith in which he hath been educated. My lord the Bishop hath 
very seriously considered the case, and asked himself the questior 
whether a young woman in such a position may with a good con- 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. i$5 

science embrace the religion of her lover. He bids me now admonish 
you that such an act, even with the intention of, perhaps, weaning 
her lover from his opinions, cannot be allowed as lawful or permitted 
on the ground of expediency. Wherefore, my dear Dorothy, should 
this suit be persevered in, we look from thee for such behaviour as 
becomes the dignity of a Forster and the duty of a Churchwoman. 
And think not but that thou shalt be rewarded in some way — 
how, we know not, yet believe that she who doth righteously shall 
receive a crown. Marriage, child, is an honourable condition ; yet 
they do well sometimes who are not married ; and truly, I myself 
waited until I was already twenty-seven before I married my 
lord. 

' I learn, further, that thy brother knoweth nought of this 
matter. It is well ; Tom is more generous than prudent ; his 
counsels are too much guided by the wine of yesterday. Tell him 
nothing unless it be necessary ; let it not be known for vanity's 
sake that this alliance was offered to you ; let it be kept a secret, 
for the sake of the young gentleman, that you refused him. In all 
difficulties, my dear niece, write to me for guidance, resting well 
assured that the Bishop is ever ready to give his consideration to 
the affairs of his wife's family. 

' I hear little or nothing new from London. They talk of letters 
between the Prince and his sister ; and that he is now at Bar-le-Duc. 
Our friends in London are daily growing more confident, and the 
country is reported more impatient ; therefore we hope and pray 
daily that when the Queen dies, though this event may not happen 
for a great many years, the Prince will quietly return and take his 
place without opposition, or any bloodshed. 

' I grieve that my nephew Tom doth not yet consider it to be 
his duty to marry, so that heirs may be reared for the great estate 
which he will some day obtain. The misfortunes of the Forsters 
in losing three goodly sons without issue have been so great that I 
would fain see another generation arise in whom the line should be 
continued. There were nine of us as children — who would desire 
more ? — and now but one survives— myself. I learn that the monu- 
ment I have ordered for my late brother's memory is nearly ready 
for Bamborough Church ; wherefore I purpose this summer, if my 
lord's health continues good, to journey northwards, in order to see 
that my design hath been faithfully carried out. I am desired by 
the Bishop to convey to thee his blessing. 

' Thy loving Aunt, 

'Dorothy Crewe.' 

This letter was like a surgeon's knife, so keen was its edge and 
so intolerable was its pain, even though it was wholesome for the 
soul ! 

The inclination of a girl is not a thing with which the world is 
concerned. Yet I must confess that the pain, the anguish, the 
bitterness of losing that dear hope which had made me happy for 
six months, were more than ■& could well bear. Alas ! I know the 



1 56 DORO THY FORSTER. 

pains of love as well as the blessings of love. Oh ! why — why could 
they not let me alone ? Why should not I make my lord happy 
for a short lifetime, and pretend for his dear sake the belief which 
I could not feel ? Happy those who number not a bishop among 
their parents and superiors ! 

So farewell, love ! And now for a time the sun was to be 
darkened, the moon was to shed no light ; there would be no 
perfume of flowers, sweet breath of wind : the sea should be a 
blood-red sheet, and the green fields as a desert of sand, until the 
Lord should send a softened heart with resignation to the Heavenly 
will. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

MY DECISION. 

Just as Mr. Forster's visit to Dilston is by some pretended to have 
had a political meaning, so Lord Derwentwater's visit to Bamborough 
in the following June is also wrongly so described, as will imme- 
diately become apparent. In truth, there was in neither any 
political or rebellious intentions whatever ; but as at Dilston the 
Radcliffe cousins assembled to keep their Christmas and New Year 
with the Earl, so at Bamborough the Protestant gentlemen, in- 
cluding those who then and afterwards remained well affected to 
the Hanover usurpation, gathered together to meet Lord Dervvent- 
water. People in the south cannot understand how Protestants 
and Catholics can meet in Northumberland without immediately 
falling to loggerheads and quarrelling about the Pope. And it 
seems the belief of the common sort in London that the appearance 
of a Catholic should be the signal for the throwing of brickbats, 
dead cats, and stones at his head. This kind of piety Ave do not 
understand. Alas ! it was my unhappiness during this time of 
company, when everyone expected smiles and a face of joy, to feel 
that such a reply would have to be given to my lord as would fill 
two hearts with unhappiness. I carried Lady Crewe's letter with 
me always, not for comfort, but for support, for it afforded me 
small consolation to know that I had the permission or license of 
the Church to make myself unhappy. Father Howard, on the 
other hand, would have given me authority to be happy. I per- 
ceived, too, that Mr. Hilyard had fully divined my secret, because 
he now sat glum, and looked at me with eyes full of pity, though 
he spoke not for a time. This is a grievous thing for a young 
woman who hath a great secret, to find that a third person has 
guessed it ; for then must she either confess it to that person, in 
which case she blabs the secret of another, or she must go on pre- 
tending to hide what has already been discovered, like an ostrich 
with her eggs, or the pelican who is said to bury her head in the 
sand, and so to think that all is concealed. Mr. Hilyard gave no 
sign of his discovery save by tell-tale eyes, which, dissimulator of 
looks though he was, could not hide from me tho truth that he 
knew my trouble and sorrow. 

A day or two before my lord arrived, he began, Tom being 



MY DECISION., 157 

present, to speak very briskly about badgers, otters, cub-foxes, sea- 
fowl, and other things with which his lordship might be amused ; 
and presently, Tom having withdrawn, he said to me gravely : 

' Miss Dorothy, I would that I could hope to see the roses return 
to your cheeks when my lord comes. Believe me, those others who 
love you (in thine own station and with the respect due) take it 
greatly to heart that they see you thus going in sorrow and trouble.' 

At these kind words I began to cry and lament. 

' Nay,' he said, 'there is, be assured, no man in the world worth 
your tears. And there is remedy for those who will find it, as is 
shown in the " Remedium Amoris." Cressida forsook Troilus for 
Diomede ; Paris left OEnone for Helen ; Helen preferred, to the 
tender care of the best of husbands, Paris and the flouts of the 
Trojan ladies ; one Cupid is painted contending with another, 
because one love driveth out another.' 

' I know not,' I replied, ' how there can be two loves in one life. 
These are idle words, Mr. Hilyard. What is Helen or Cressida 
to me ?' 

' It were much to be desired,' said Mr. Hilyard, without replying 
to this question, 'that the passion of love could be treated as 
copiously and minutely by ingenious women as it hath been by 
men, who have written all the love-stories and poems on love, so 
that the world may very well learn the miseries caused by that 
passion in men, and its incitements, growth, violence, and remedies. 
Yet for women there has been nothing (a few fragments by Sappho 
excepted) written by themselves to tell of the origin, symptoms, 
and strength of the passion, nor how it differs from the correspond- 
ing emotion in men. So that, though physicians may very well 
understand the existence of the disease (if it be a disease), even 
though it exhibit to outward view less violent symptoms than in 
men, they are apt to treat it as if it were the same in kind, whereas 
(as I conceive and in my poor judgment) it is by no means of the 
same kind. This I could make manifest to you, had you the patience 
to listen.' 

' Indeed, sir,' I said, ' I doubt not that you are a very learned 
person ; but suffer me, pray, to know my own heart without your 
interpretation.' 

' For the cure of love in young men,' he went on, ' there are 
prescribed many things of little service in the case of the other 
sex. For instance, fasting, exercise, study, the use of lettuce, 
melons, water-lilies, and rue, combined (in obstinate cases) with 
flogging. None of these remedies seem convenient or apt for a 
woman ; indeed, for a true remedium amoris I think there is 
nothing absolutely sovereign for a woman, except the comprehen- 
sion or the discovery that the object of her passion, on account of 
some vitium or defect which he may possess in mind or body, ia 
among his fellows contemptible or mean. Others think that a 
woman is most easily cured by the knowledge of her lover's in- 
fidelity or loss of affection ; but this produces jealousy, and jealousy 
incites to revenge, or even madness. Wherefore, Miss Dorothy, I 



158 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

would recommend to all young ladies who are in love that they 
should steadily keep before their imaginations the imperfections of 
their lovers.' 

' Oh, sir,' I cried, ' this talk is trifling ! You have found out my 
secret and shamed me. You know that I love a man whom I cannot 
marry. Let that be enough. Why tease me with this foolish prating 
of lettuce and water-lilies ? My lord may— nay, he must — go away 
and find another woman for his wife. This must I bear without 
jealousy or revenge, as a Christian woman should, because there is 
no help for it. But that I should think upon his defects, who hath 
none ! Fie, Mr. Hilyard ! I thought not you could say anything 
so foolish and so cruel.' 

' Forgive me,' he replied, seeing that I was now moved to anger. 

' Why, after this foolish talk about fickle women (I may not have 
been so beautiful as Helen, but I have certainly been more constant), 
and about the symptoms of love (as if any woman who respects 
herself would talk to a man about her thoughts and hopes), and 
about love's remedies and lettuces (as if what one eats and drinks 
could alter the affections of the heart !) — after all this talk, I say, 
to advise me that I should fix my mind on my lord's imperfections 
— of all men the least imperfect !' 

' Forgive me, Miss Dorothy. I know of no defects in his lord- 
ship, except that he hath made you unhappy with loving you — a 
thing which he could not help, unless he had been the most in- 
sensible of men. Yet I would venture on anything if I could only 
restore the merry face of my mistress. Did you take counsel with 
any— any in authority ?' 

Here he blushed and looked shamefaced ; I know not why. 

' Lady Crewe hath written to me, enjoining me, in the name of 
the Bishop, to proceed no farther.' 

' Yet your happiness is more to me — I mean, to yourself — even 
than the order of the Bishop. Wherefore, Miss Dorothy' (he 
endeavoured to speak boldly, but failed, and spoke in some con- 
fusion, like unto one who first would open up his mind as regards 
a horrid crime) — ' wherefore let us consider that case of conscience 
which you once laid before me again. It may be that— we shall 
see — the Bishop may not thoroughly understand. There are excuses ' 
(he seemed feeling about for them). ' It may very well be argued 
that a young gentlewoman, such as you described in your questions, 
might be considered as an exceptional case ; for not only her own, 
but also her lover's happiness, is concerned. And he a great noble- 
man. And though we hold a purer form of faith, yet it cannot bo 
denied that the Catholics have a most venerable ' 

' Oh, Mr. Hilyard,' I interrupted, ' your arguments come too late ! ! 

' If you are unhappy,' be replied, ' bow much more I, who am the 
cause !' 

' You the cause ?' 

' Yes,' he hung his head ; ' because— because— well, if I had giveu 
t different reply to that question.' 

Be sighed again, and weot away j but looked as if there was 



MY DECISION. 1 59 

something still on his mind, if he dared to say it ont. And still he 
was silent, and behaved like one with a burden on his conscience 
when in my company. But this did not at all prevent him from 
being in good voice, and with a cheerful countenance, such as be- 
comes a man who is happy and of a clear conscience, when Mr. 
Forster had visitors and the drinking and singing began. However, 
I had long ceased to wonder at the variations in this man, all for 
virtue in the morning, with a conscience tender, and converse pious 
and sincere. Yet in the evening, virtue forgotten, folly made wel- 
come, and revelry proclaimed with wicked and idle songs. 

The month of June is the spring of Northumberland, and a most 
beautiful time it is, when every morning yields a new surprise, and 
the dullest heart cannot but rejoice in the long days and the warm 
sunshine, after the cold east winds of April and May. In June the 
vary sands upon the shore below the castle show of brighter hue, 
while the hedges are gay with flowers, and the trees are all glorious 
with their new finery of leaf. Nowhere, Mr. Hilyard assures me, 
are the leaves of the trees more large and full, or the flowers of 
field, hedge, and ditch more varied, than in this favoured county. 
It is in this month that a young lover should woo his mistress ; it 
was in this month that Lord Derwentwater came to pay his court 
to one who was, alas ! bidden to say him nay. 

He came for no other purpose— though it was given out that he 
came to stay with Tom Forster, to visit his property in the north 
of the county (in right of this the north transept of Bamborough 
Church belonging to him), to talk politics, and whatever the people 
pleased — he came, I say, with no other object than to see me, and 
to remind me that the six months had come to an end. 

On the first day, and on the second, and on the third, there was 
no opportunity for private discourse between us, because there was 
no moment when so honoured a guest was left alone to follow his 
own course unattended ; one gentleman after another being pre- 
sented to his lordship, and continual amusements (whereof great 
men must become wearied) being provided for him. But still he 
followed me with eyes full of love, and still I trembled, thinking of 
what was to come, and how I should find the courage to say it. 

The first day he explored, with a great company, the dismantled 
and ruinous chambers of the great castle, Mr. Hilyard going with 
the party in order to discourse upon the history and antiquities of 
the place, to describe its sieges, and to enlarge upon the greatness of 
the Forsters, so that some gentlemen present of equally good family 
wished that they, too, had in their own houses an Oxford scholar 
who could keep their accounts, rehearse, as if he were a great 
historian, the ancient glories of their line, and in the evening sing, 
and act, and play the buffoon for them to laugh. Truly a valuable 
servant, a Phoenix of stewards ! Lord Derwentwater spoke in 
great admiration of this venerable pile, compared with which, he 
said, his own ruined castle of Langley was small and insignificant. 
He also made some very pertinent remarks about the docay of great 
families, and the passage* of estates into the female line, and con- 



160 DOROTHY FORSTER. 



zv: 



ratulated Mr. Forster tho Elder (of Etherston) on the happy 
circumstances which still preserved this great monument for the 
original and parent stock, not knowing the truth, that the place 
belonged to none other than Lord Crewe. 

In the evening there was a very splendid supper ; not, truly, so 
fine as could be given at Dilston, but a banquet to simple gentlemen, 
and there was great havoc among the bottles, though as usual his 
lordship begged early to be excused, on the ground that though his 
heart was Northumbrian, his head was still French, and could not 
endure the generous potations of his friends. They would have 
been better pleased had he remained toasting and drinking with 
them, until all were laid on the floor together. In this manner, 
indeed, many of them proved the friendliness with which they 
regarded his lordship. 

The next day a party was made up to go a-shooting among the 
wild birds of the Staples and the Fames, though there is little sport 
where the birds are so plentiful and so tame that it is mere slaughter 
and butchery. That seems to me true sport when a pheasant is 
discerned arnong the bushes, and presently put up ; or a covey of 
partridges rises among the turnips, or a fox is made to stake his 
swiftness and cunning against the swiftness of the hounds ; but it 
is a poor thing indeed to stand upon a rock and shoot among a 
flying crowd of birds who have no fear of man. 

On the morning of the fourth day, Lord Derwentwaterrose early, 
and finding me already up and dressed, surprised me by asking for 
a dish of chocolate. The habit of drinking chocolate in the morn- 
ing, although it hath found great favour (surely it is a most de- 
lightful and wholesome beverage) among the ladies, is as yet little 
esteemed by the gentlemen of the north. To these last a tankard 
of small-ale is considered better for the composing of the stomach 
and the satisfying of thirst. 

' You shall have, my lord,' I said, ' as fine a dish of chocolate as if 
you were at St. Germain's itself.' 

I begged him to wait a few minutes only, and ran quickly and 
called Jenny, my maid, to help me. Then, though my heart was 
beating, I made the chocolate with my own hands, strong, hot, and 
foaming, while Jenny spread a wtiite cloth and laid the table in the 
garden under a walnut-tree. When the chocolate was ready I found 
a new scone made of the finest meal, boiled two or three eggs, and 
spread all out, with cream and yellow butter from the dairy, and a 
dish of last year's honey. 

' Your breakfast is ready, ray lord,' I said, like a waiting-maid. 
' But you must take it in the garden, where I have laid it for you.' 

He followed me, and protested that he had neither expected nor 
deserved so great an honour as to be served by Miss Dorothy. 

4 1 am pleased,' I said, ' aud honoured in doing so small a service 
for your lordship, if you can eat eggs and honey and drink chocolate, 
instead of pressed beef and beer.' 

' It is the food of the god*,' he replied, 'or, at least, of Arcadian 
shepherds. Dorothy, wai tuei * ever ia Arcadia susia a shepherdess ? 



MY DECISION. i6j 

One knows not what might have been said further had not Mr. 
Hilyard appeared abruptly, taking the early air in a morning-gown 
ragged and worn. He would have retired, seeing his lordship, but 
I bade him stay. 

' Here is another of our shepherds,' I said. ' But fie, Mr. Hil- 
yard ! Do shepherds in Arcadia wear ragged gowns when they rise 
in the morning to see great noblemen ?' 

' Mr. Hilyard will not allow anyone to forget him,' said his lord- 
ship kindly. 'He discourses learnedly by day on history and anti- 
quity, and in the evening he displays the powers of the most 
accomplished mime. I thank you, sir, for your exertions in both 
capacities. Especially, let me say, for the former.' 

' My lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I am like the nightingale. My pipe 
is kept for the evening. By day I am at the commands of Miss 
Dorothy.' 

' Then, sir, truly you ou™ht to be the happiest of men.' 

' My lord,' replied Mr. Hilyard gravely, ' 1 have the kindest and 
best of mistresses, who hath ever treated me with a consideration I 
should be the basest wretch not to feel and acknowledge. In this 
house there is not one who doth not daily pray for her happiness, 
and I, who am the most unworthy, pray the most continually.' 

So saying, he bowed low and left the garden, for which I thanked 
him in my heart, knowing why he did so ; and yet trembled, because 
I remembered my weakness at Dilston, and that I would need to 
keep careful watch over my words, to discipline my inclinations, 
and to submit myself and my will wholly to the authority of the 
Bishop. 

Then were we left alone in the garden, whither in the early 
morning none ever came, except sometimes the gardener. The 
place was well fitted for our talk, being a bower surrounded on two 
sides by a hawthorn hedge, now all in blossom and at its sweetest ; 
on the third side having an elderberry-tree, just preparing to flower, 
and looking upon the bowling-green. Often in the warm evenings 
tne gentlemen would take their tobacco after supper in this retreat. 

' Will your lordship first eat your breakfast *?' I said, when Mr. 
Hilyard left us. ' I hope you will find the chocolate to your liking. 
Let me give you a little more cream ; the eggs are new laid this 
"norning ; the air should sharpen your appetite '—talking fast, so 
that he might be tempted to go on eating, and forget for a moment 
what was in his mind. But he pushed the plate from him. 

' Dorothy,' he cried, ' you think that I can eat when I have found 
at last an opportunity to speak with you? For what reason, think 
you, did I come here ? Was it to shoot birds on the islands ? Was 
it to drink the Prince's health V 

' Alas ! my lord, can you not refrain for a little while ? Oh, let 
me be happy for a short half-hour in serving you ! Let me talk of 
other things — of Dilston. Is your brother, Mr. Frank, well and 
cheerful ? Is Mr. Charles still in good spirits ? How is the good 
Mr. Howard?' 

4 No, Dorothy, I cannn+. refrain. I must tell you — because I came 



i<52 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

here to tell jou— that I love you more and more. I think upon 
your image by day and by night. Five months of meditation have 
made me only more thy slave. My dear, give me life, or bid me go 
away and die.' 

Now, Heaven guard the religion of a poor weak woman ! 

Then, while he fell upon his knee and kissed my hand as he had 
done at Dilston, the same strange weakness fell upon me, like a 
swoon or fainting-fit ; my knees trembled as I stood ; my heart 
began to beat fast, my eyes swam, and I said nothing. Oh ! so 
overwhelming and so strong is this passion in man that it carries 
away a woman, too, like a straw in a current. And all this while 
his voice fell upon my ear like music. 

' Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy ! there is nowhere in this world so divine a 
face ; there are no brown eyes like thine, my dear ; there is no voice 
so sweet as thine ; there are no such soft brown curls, no cheeks so 
red and white, no lips so rosy. Oh, my dear ! if I was in love with 
thee at Christmas, I am ten times more in love at Midsummer.' 

Again I felt the pang, but now with tenfold agony, of the 
Bishop's injunction — ah! why is virtue always so harsh? Again 
was I tempted, so that if he had, in a way, forced me — if he had 
only taken me in his arms and sworn never to let me go till I pro- 
mised to be of his religion, I must most certainly have yielded. 
He did not — sinner that I am, I have never ceased to be sorry that 
he did not — therefore religion triumphed, and I remain a Protestant 
to this hour. Yet at that moment I would have thrown all away — 
yes, all — obedience to my Bishop, to my aunt, the faith in which I 
had been educated, all to go away with this man and cleave unto 
him. Never again, never again can I be so tempted ; never again 
could there happen to me temptation like unto this. Kind Heaven 
will not suffer it more than once in a lifetime. 

' Oh ! rise, my lord,' I cried at last. ' At least let us talk together 
reasonably. I am not a goddess ; I am a poor weak woman, ignorant 
and rustic ; I am not worthy of your regard. Leave me to my own 
people.' 

He obeyed and rose, but his eyes were wild and his cheek flushed. 
He walked to and fro for a space, swinging his arms, until he grew 
composed. Then he came back to me and tried to talk soberly. 

He spoke, as he always did, with the greatest modesty about him- 
self. He was fully aware, he said, that an education in France, 
although it had not made him a Frenchman, very much separated 
him from his countrymen ; so that on his return he found the 
customs strange to him, and the language, though he spoke English 
from the cradle, difficult. 

'Moreover,' he said, 'I know that my manners are not yours. I 
have not the frank cordiality of your brother, or the boisterous 
jollity of his friends ; I cannot drink with them ; I am not accus- 
tomed to their noisy fox-hunting, otter-hunting, badger-baiting ; it 
;s strange to me when a gentleman takes a quarterstaff and for half 
\n hour belabours, and is belaboured by, a rustic ; in my very dress 
v 'xi-.k the simplicity which distinguishes them.' (Here I could not 



MY DECISION. 163 

choose but smile, because it was a kind of nature in the Earl to 
dress finely; and if fine clothes are not made for such as Lord 
Derwentwater, for whom should they be made?) 'Again, I know 
not rightly how to treat my people. In France they are not con- 
sidered ; they make the roads, plough the land, find the soldiers, 
pay the taxes, but they are not regarded. A French noble is like a 
creature of another race, to whom the lower race is born subject. 
I hear of the English freedom and independence ; yet when I come 
home I am received with ten times the welcome and respect which 
the French canaille use towards their betters. Here they do not 
hate the noblesse ; on the contrary, they love them. Why, in France 
a noble thinks little of kicking, beating, and cuffing any man of the 
lower orders, even if he be a scholar or a poet. Here, gentle or 
simple, if you strike a man he will return the blow, with the law at 
his back and no Bastille to fear. So great a thing is liberty ! And 
so hard it is for a gentleman to know how rightly to treat his 
people ! Their friend I would fain be ; their equal I cannot be ; 
their oppressor I might be, yet would rather die. How to deserve 
their love and to retain their respect ? Dorothy, let it be your task 
to teach me !' 

' Alas ! my lord, there are many better teachers than myself.' 

'Nay. I have been walking in the village with Mr. Hiiyard, and 
speaking with the people. Everywhere it is the same story — the 
goodness of Miss Dorothy : how kind she is to the poor ; of what 
an open hand and tender heart ! There are more poor on the Rad- 
cliffe estates than at Bamborough ; come to them and be their 
guardian angel.' 

I replied, but with trembling voice, that an angel I could never 
be ; and as for going to Dilston, that was impossible, and I must, 
alas ! still remain at the Manor House. 

' There is so great a difference,' he went on, ' between the people 
of France and of England. Here they dance not on a Sunday, nor 
is there any playing of the pipe ; they do not laugh and sing greatly, 
yet they are better fed and better dressed, and are truly more happy ; 
they seem sad at first, but they are not sad ; sometimes they seem 
surly, yet they may be trusted. Teach me, Dorothy, better to 
know this brave folk of Northumberland.' 

' Oh, my lord,' I replied, • you are learning every day ; you will 
understand them soon, far better than I could teach you.' 

For a reason which you will presently hear, he did not learn to 
understand them, and with all his virtues never became quite a 
Northumbrian. 

'And I am separated from the rest, though there are many 
Catholics in this country, by our religion. This one does not 
understand in a Catholic country, where the hatred of the faith 
by Protestants is not comprehended. Men such as myself, who 
would fain know the true temper of the people, are open to great 
danger of deceit. Already I perceive that many things currently 
reported at St. Germain's were false. In the business of his High- 
ness, we are dependent on our messengers, who may have their own 



1 64 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

purposes to serve, and may see with eyea of exaggeration.' H« 
stooped and sighed. ' For all these reasons, Dorothy, take pity 
on me.' 

1 My lord, if pity be of any use, from my very heart would I 
give you that pity.' 

'If you give it, show it, Dorothy ; give me, as well, your hand.' 

I made no answer. It was too much for me to bear, that ho, 
BO noble and so good, should sue thus humbly for so small a thing. 

' Let me see with those sweet English eyes,' he said. ' Let me be 
taught by that voice, which is all the music I care to hear.' 

' Oh, my lord, it cannot be ! Nay, do not force a poor girl against 
her conscience. First, I am a simple gentlewoman, and know not 
the manners of the Court. What would her ladyship, your mother, 
say of such a match ?' 

' It needs not,' he answered, ' to consider my mother's objections, 
if she have any. She is now with her third husband, and has no 
longer any right to be consulted. That is not your reason, Dorothy.' 

Like all women, I played round the point, as if I would escape it. 

' Next, my lord, you want one who in manner and appearance 
would adorn the high place to which you raise your Countess.' 

Here, indeed, he vehemently protested that there never had been, 
and never would be, one more beautiful, more gracious, more 
worthy of the highest rank than the fair Dorothy. 

' And yet,' he said, ' these are not your reasons. Why, for your 
sake would I give up rank and dignities, with all my possessions — 
happy with you if I had to go to the plantations of Virginia, or the 
savage wilds of New England.' 

' No, my lord ; those are not my reasons. Alas ! I have but one 
reason. Father Howard instructed me six months ago what that 
reason would be.' 

' Dorothy, have you not listened to his arguments ?' 

'Indeed, my lord, I have read them all, and with a heart willing 
to be convinced, Heaven knows ! Why, what should I have to 
reply when a scholar tells me this and that ? How can a poor 
woman do more than obey authority and trust in the Lord ? Yet 
just as your own honour keeps you to the faith in which you were 
trained, so does mine forbid me to leave my own save by permission 
and authority of those who are my natural pastors and masters. 
For if I did, I believe I should have no more, as long as I live, any 
rest or comfort in my conscience.' 

He made no reply at first to this. 

'It is your honour, my lord, as you have yourself told me. 
Would it be to my honour, if I, being too ignorant to decide on 
these grave questions, were to abandon the faith of my people, pre- 
sumptuously give them the lie, and assure so great a scholar as the 
Lord Bishop of Durham that he is wrong ? Can I do this thing, 
my lord, even for your sake ?' 

' Is this, then,' he asked sadly, ' the only thing which stands 
between us ? Good God 1 that we should part because prie&ti 
cannot agree I' 



MY DECISION. 165 

' Yes,' I said ; ' there is nothing else, bolieve me. Can your lor i- 
Bliip think that I am insensible to the offer of so much nobleuet* — ■ 
bo far greater than any merit of mine ? But yet it is an obstacle 
which cannot be overcome.' 

' Nay ; but for my sake, Dorothy, listen to Mr. Howard. He will 
place before you, so plainly that there shall be no manner of doubt 
possible, reasons which shall compel you, without thinking of me 
at all, to come into the true Church. I would have no pretended 
convert. I do not ask you to listen to any arguments of mine ; for, 
indeed, I am not a Doctor of Divinity — I know not how to defend 
the Church. There are others who pray daily at the altar for thy 
conversion. When I came from Dilston, my aunt, whose heart you 
have won — I mean the Lady Mary — whispered to me, " Bring her 
back with you ; Mr. Howard is ready to resolve her doubts, and I 
will pray for her." 

I shook my head. There was more than a Mass between us. If 
it had been only a Mass, Mr. Howard might easily have removed all 
scruples with ease, because Love would have gone before to clear 
the way. There was, besides, the tall and venerable form of the 
Lord Bishop. He seemed at this moment to stand before me, 
upright as a dart, warning me with a frown, which made me tremble, 
not to sell my conscience for a wedding-ring. 

' Shall we say,' Lord Derwentwater went on, ' that your learning 
and reason are more than a match for Mr. Howard and all the 
Church ? If it be so, then come and convert him and all of us. 
Only come and listen to him.' 

' Oh, I must not !' I replied. ' My lord, I have my own people 
to consider, as well as my own conscience. I doubt not — I am a 
very weak woman — that the reasons of Mr. Howard, and the 
prayers of Lady Mary, and my own inclination, would speedily 
effect the conversion which you desire. Yet I am strictly ad- 
monished by the Bishop, Lord Crewe, that I already belong to a 
Church with authority, and that it is the Church of my father and 
mother.' 

' Dorothy, it is for love ! By Heaven, if you love me as I love 
you, no priest, be he bishop or not, shall stand between us ! Keep 
your own religion then, my dear ; worship how you please. It 
must surely be a true religion which such an angel would profess. 
Go to your own Church — have your own priest ; I will never inter- 
fere. Only suffer me to have mine.' 

Then, indeed, was I for a moment overwhelmed, and felt as if, 
after all my doubts, heaven itself were opening to me. Each to 
keep his own religion ! Why, what could be a happier settlement ? 
And love to remain ! Ah, happy ending ! 

Yet I know now full well that, had I yielded, there would have 
been worse trouble before me, and the misery of being torn from 
my lover's arms when I thought myself folded securely there for 
ever. No one, on either side, would have allowed the marriage ; 
either I must be received into the Catholic religion, which the 
Bishop and Lady Crewe, to say nothing of my father and Tom, 



1 66 DO ROTH Y FORSTER. 

would never permit, or Lord Derwentwater must come over to th« 
Protestants — a thing which his people would, with all their powers, 
oppose. 

I was saved by timely, nay, providential, reason. I thought of 
the dismal condition of parents who agree not in religion, and would 
each fain bring up the children in different ways, which must be 
intolerable to a mother ; and of the dreadful thing to live with a 
man whom you tondly love, but concerning whose soul and ultimate 
fate you tremble continually ; and to see your innocent children 
torn from the true Fold, and brought up in the way of superstition 
and error. All this I thought upon quickly, and without time to 
give it words ; and then I strengthened my courage (though heart 
beat and lips were dry, and hands trembled and knees were sinking), 
and begged my lord, humbly, to go away and leave me, because I 
could bear the vehemence of his pleadings no longer. But, I added, 
I should never — no, not if my days were prolonged far beyond the 
earthly span — never forget the honour he had done me, and would 
pray for him night and morning, that he might obtain a wife 
worthy of him, and children brave and strong, with a long and 
happy life, and all the best and most precious gifts — yea, and more 
— that the Lord hath ever vouchsafed to man. Then, being an 
honourable gentleman, although so torn and distracted by his 
passion, he desisted, doing and saying no more than to stoop and 
kiss me upon my forehead, with a — 

' Farewell, sweet Dorotby ! Now must I go — whither, and what 
to do, I know not, and care no longer.' 

So I was left alone, and, sitting down, could weep and cry to my 
heart's content. 

How long I sat there I know not ; but presently I heard a step 
in the garden, and Mr. Hilyard returned. 

' I met my lord,' he said. 'Distraction was in his look : he hath 
mounted his horse and ridden away. Oh ! Miss Dorothy, my poor 
mistress, forgive me ! it is my fault — my doing — all.' 

He threw himself upon his knees. 

' Drive me away,' he said ; ' I deserve nothing less. For it was 
none but I who wrote to Lady Crewe and told her of my lord's 
passion and your doubt. Had it not been for that letter, the 
Bishop would have known nothing, and long before he could 
interfere you might have been received in Dilston Chapel. You 
have been my friend and benefactress, and this is my gratitude. 
Let me call him back. Why, we need not go to Mr. Howard ; I 
know all his arguments. In half an hour I will convert you myself. 
In a quarter of an hour I will convince you. I will even ask to be 
received with you, so as to remain in your service. Be it on my 
head ! It is the least that I can do.' 

I bade him be silent, and leave me alone. Yet he was so re- 
pentant, and so strangely moved, that I gave him my hand in token 
of forgiveness, and told him that there was nothing to forgive. 

Sometimes, since, I have blamed him for meddling. But, had he 
not informed Lady Crewe, the thing must have been told her by 



HER LADYSHIP'S LETTER. rS? 

another, and, sooner or later, the whole business must be opened 
before her. Besides, he was but doing his duty to his mistress. 
Yet I have often wondered why, when my lord had me, so to 
speak, in a melting mood — when my heart was torn to pieces with 
pity and with love — he did not carry me away straight to the altar, 
when I might have been converted, received, baptized, confessed, 
and even married all in an hour, and before there was time to 
remember the Bishop at all. 

CHAPTER XX. 

HER ladyship's letter. 

Nothing of all this was told by me to Tom oi- to my father, though 
afterwards they learned it from Lady Crewe. I saw my lord once 
more before he went away, but not alone. Nevertheless he whis- 
pered, ' Dorothy ! you have chosen rightly ; all that you do is well 
done. Farewell !' And so he went away, and I lost the noblest 
lover that ever wooed a maid. Shortly after I received from Lady 
Crewe a letter, which I copy out for the consolation of other girls 
who may be parted from their lovers for conscience or religion's 
sake. The letter was not brought by the postboy, but one of the 
Bishop's running footmen, who also carried with him a great parcel 
of fine things sent to me by her ladyship, kindly hoping thus to 
cheer my spirits by the contemplation of black and silver fringe, 
Geneva velvet, Brussels lace, Italian silk, soft Indian stuffs, white 
sarsnet, blue and gold atlas, flowered damask, and so forth. It is 
certainly a great solace to a woman in all the misfortunes of life to 
have such things to look at, and I dare say many a sad heart may 
have been comforted by such a present as was thus made to me. 

'My dear and loving Niece,' her ladyship wrote, — 'I hear 
from a sure hand that the admonition and advice of the Bishop in 
this grave affair between Lord Derwentwater and yourself have 
been duly considered by you, and have borne fruit in your decision, 
which I pity and am sorry for, while I cannot but approve. It is 
a grievous thing, indeed, for a woman to send away any gallant 
gentleman who offers his hand and his affections (yet have I sent 
away many) ; much more grievous is it when that gentleman is 
such an one as my Lord of Derwentwater, a man born, I am per- 
suaded, to be loved by all, a young gentleman of excellent parts 
and great sweetness, not to speak of his exalted rank and his near- 
ness to the throne. Among the many offers which I received and 
refused, there was not one so important as this. Indeed, my dear, 
the conquest of this admirable young gentleman, though it surprises 
me not, since the beauty of the women in our family hath ever 
been coupled with that most excellent gift, the power of attraction, 
J'et it should greatly raise you in the estimation of all. There is 
not (believe me) a young woman in all England who would not 
long to have so brave a lover at her feet, and it will be all your life 
a subject of gratitude and thankfulness that this has happened to 



i53 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

you. But if 1 admire your fortune, child, in this affair, I admira 
your behaviour more in letting him go. Grievous it is, without 
doubt, and my heart bleeds for your sorrow. Yet, my dear, on tha 
other hand, consider, I pray, how much more grievous would it be 
to have taken him. For, just as he can never change the religion 
in which he was brought up, which is that of his father, of his 
mother, of his grandfather King Charles, and of his cousin the 
Prince ; so you, for your part, can never change your own, which 
is that of all the living Forsters, whether of Etherston or of Bam- 
borough, and that of your illustrious uncle, the Bishop of this 
diocese. Picture to yourself a distracted household in which tho 
father is a Papist and the mother a Protestant ; the children in- 
clining now this way, now that, as they are swayed by their father's 
or their mother's influence ; imagine the unfortunate parents, fearful 
each for the future lot of the other, and trembling continually for 
fear whether Heaven can be assured for those who hold to this or 
to that belief. My dear, thou hast saved thyself from such a fate 
in the decision which you have taken. Wherefore, learn to look 
upon the Earl as a friend who cannot possibly become a husband 
any more than if he were thy brother, and let thy heart be free to 
listen to the persuasions of other and more fortunate men. Mean- 
time, forget not to take comfort in the thought that thou hast 
obeyed the admonition of thy Bishop — a thing much more pleasing 
to Almighty God than the mere following of the inclinations and 
temptations of the heart. This, in after years and upon thy death- 
bed, will afford thee such satisfaction and comfort as the memory 
of a short period of passion could never secure. Wherefore, my 
dear niece, I leave thee to thy resignation as a Christian, to thy 
obedience as a daughter of the Church of England, to thy pride as 
a Forster, to bring thee quickly to a cheerful and contented mind. 
Of this matter, for the present, enough. 

' My lord, I am thankful therefor, continues in such health and 
strength as is surprising in a manor his years. To him belongs the 
blessing of long continuance in the land. We hear good news con- 
cerning the temper of the country, which promises to assume a 
settled resolution of loyalty. I know very well on which side my 
niece will be found. Rest assured, therefore, that thou hast in me 
always the same affection and desire for thy welfare. 

' Thy loving Aunt, 

'Dorothy Crewe.' 

In this way, therefore, did my love-story end. Because my 
lover was so gallant and comely a man, all other men have since 
appeared small compared with him. Nor have I ever been able to 
endure the thought of a second lover ; though many have offered 
themselves, including that faithful pair who would never take nay 
for an answer, Peregrine Widdrington and Ned Swinburne. Thus 
it is that, though an unmarried woman, I have learned to distinguish 
and to understand very clearly the symptoms of love, which are 
various, and differ with every man. one becoming melancholy and 



MLK LADYSHIP'S LETTER. 169 

another joyful, one hanging his head and another dancing, one 
afraid and another confident ; but always the same hungry look in 
every eye — the same look as I bad seen in my lord's eyes, though 
in him much more noble and dignified. But never again, towards 
any other man, did I feel the same glow in my own heart, the same 
yearning — almost too strong to be endured — to see that look again. 
Therefore, I think that, though a woman may perhaps make a good 
wife even to a man who has never touched her heart, we are all so 
constituted by nature that we can love but one man. This is that 
high and sacred mystery of wedded life, ordained by Heaven for 
the mutual support and comfort of man and woman. I have missed 
that chief blessing, it is true ; but I have not missed the gift of a 
man's love. 

It would be foolish to relate how dull were the days and how 
tedious the duties of the house after my lord left me. A girl 
crossed in love is ever a sorrowful creature ; all such do I pity from 
my heart, remembering the pain and anguish which at that time I 
endured. In such a juncture and at the outset there is no comfort 
in anything — not even in lace and silks ; nor any joy in the day, 
nor any rest at night. For the morning brings the thought that 
there will be no happiness in the day, and the sun uprising only 
renews the pain of yesterday ; in the night, the face of him who is 
lost comes back in dreams, and hangs about the pillow like the face 
of a ghost. I saw that ghost by night and had those memories by 
day. When Mr. Hilyard read to me, I heard not ; when he played 
Bad music to me, I sat in my chair and listened not ; when he talked 
to me, I heeded not. Yet he never wearied in reading, talking, and 
playing to me, and was a most patient, thoughtful creature. At 
such time the things which happen pass before our eyes as in a 
dream, and we see them not, and think nothing strange. Why, I 
remember now that Jenny Lee came to me one day, and after say- 
ing that she could not bear to see her mistress thus go still in sorrow, 
telling me she knew how to get from her grandmother a love-potion, 
which, if I pleased, she would send by a sure and secret hand to 
Dilston Hall, to bring back my lord, so that, nilly-willy, he should 
not choose but come. Instead of rebuking the girl, and soundly 
boxing her ears, I only shook my head and said nothing. Yet this 
is passing strange — that a servant-maid should offer to practise 
Borcery, and her mistress should not reprove her. 

Let all this pass : time brings patience and understanding. What 
had been done was for conscience and fair Religion's sake. After- 
wards, but not for a year or two, Lady Crewe told my brother Tom 
what had happened, and it was counted as an honour to us all that 
my lord had proposed and I had refused. 

At this time my father, being now somewhat advanced in years — 
namely, between fifty and sixty — was aweary of the long journey to 
London and back, and therefore resolved to retire from the House 
of Commons. I know not what passed between Lady Crewe and 
Tom on the subject of living in London, but I suppose that she 
agreed to bear his charges, so that he should make an appearance iu 



1 7* DOROTHY FORSTEK, 

the great town worthy of his position in the county and his place ai 
a Knight of the Shire. Certain it is that he was elected, being the 
seventh Forster in unbroken line who thus represented his county 
in Parliament. 

When Tom was away, which was now for a great while in the 
year, I led for the most part a retired life at the Manor House, Mr. 
Hilyard managing all her affairs for Lady Crewe, though I confess 
that so great a scholar would have been better occupied in a library. 
We continued to read together, and in the winter evenings we had 
music, chiefly of a grave and serious kind, which elevates the soul 
and leads it heavenward. It seemed as if he was contented, when 
there was no feasting or fooling, to lead this quiet life. Often, also, 
my father would sit with us, especially in the summer evenings, and 
take a pipe of Virginia with a mug of ale. But as for play-acting, 
singing choruses, and the like, there was none of it. Nor was there 
much whisper of what was doing in the world, save for a news-letter 
which sometimes reached us. Nothing more astonished me when I 
went to London than the multiplication of news and the swiftness 
with which the latest intelligence is received and scattered abroad. 
Again, Mr. Hilyard had often told me that we lived in an age 
remarkable, even like that of Augustus, for wit, poetry, genius, and 
learning. Yet of all these wits — of Addison and Steele and the 
rest — I should have known nothing, except at second hand, had not 
Mr. Hilyard, by great good fortune, lighted on a complete set of the 
papers called the Spectator and the Tatler. Itwas in the year 1713, 
and at Alnwick, whither few books find their way. Certainly, I 
may truly say that I have never received greater pleasure than from 
the reading of these delightful works. Too often the wits of the 
age lend their powers to bringing virtue in contempt, so that a 
gentlewoman cannot so much as look upon their poems ; and if she 
ventures to the theatre, must, for shame' sake, put on a mask. 
There is comfort in the thought that such writers receive their 
reward in the oblivion into which they speedily fall. Neglect, says 
Mr. Hilyard, is the certain fate of those who impiously seek to 
make virtue ridiculous. 

Each year, when Tom came home, the house was tilled again. 
Once more the cellar was opened ; there was feasting, and, in the 
evening, singing and drinking, with Mr. Hilyard to keep the com- 
pany m**ry. Pleasant it was to see Tom, happy, as of old, with 
every k*i».d of sport, never tired of the things which always amused 
him, calling for the old songs and the old stories. But there 
appeared latterly many strange faces, at sight of whom Mr. Hilyard 
looked glum. They were nonjurors, malcontents, and restless men, 
who were not satisfied, as most of us in the north, to wait, but must 
needs be for ever pushing and plotting. 

As for Tom's way of living in London, it was this — apart from 
his Parliament duties. After a mug or two of small-beer in the 
morning, he commonly took his dinner at Lovett's, by Charing 
Cross, a place much frequented by Members of Parliament and 
country gentlemen. Dinner despatched^ he would presently walk 



HER LADYSHIPS LETTER. 171 

to White's Coffee House, in St. James's Street, where no Y/hig dare 
so much as show his face. Here would he take a dkh of coffee or 
chocolate, with a pipe of tobacco, and, perhaps, if the weather were 
raw, a dram of ratafia or Nantz. In the evening he went to the 
October Club. He was never seen in the Park, or the theatre, or 
any of the places where ladies resort ; and while, on the one hand, 
he escaped the destruction which the ladies of London sometimes 
bring upon country gentlemen, on the other, there was no question 
as to marrying an heiress. An easy man, everybody's friend, and to 
all the world Tom Forster. 

"When I asked Mr. Hilyard where the October Club met, he said 
he did not knoAV, but certainly as far as possible from Will's. I 
know that Will's is the resort of wits and poets, and it was easy to 
understand that Mr. Hilyard meant to imply that Tom's friends 
were not remarkable for learning and ingenuity. I dare say this 
may be so, if only for the reason that most of the Tories are gentle- 
men by birth ; now there is no reason at all why one already illus- 
trious by his descent should seek glory in the contest of wit, in 
which he may be outdone by some smart Templar, or even the son 
of a London vintner, like Mr. Hilyard. On the other hand, there 
are many great wits and scholars on our side, and I hope that Bishop 
Atterbury, or Lord Bolingbroke, may he acknowledged at least the 
equal of Addison or Steele. But, perhaps, after all, Mr. Hilyard 
only desired to say a smart thing. There is practised among scholars 
the art of describing men and things in sharp sentences, mostly ill- 
natured. They call this art wit or satire, but it is, to my thinking, 
mostly ill-nature or spitefulness. 

' If I were in London, which I fear ' — here Mr. Hilyard sighed 
heavily — ' I shall never see again, I would go to the coffee-houses of 
both sides, and then ' 

' What then ?' 

' I should learn all that can be said against either side. Believe 
me, Miss Dorothy, there would be no greater safeguard for your 
Tory gentleman than to hear the Whig argument.' 

'Nay,' I said, 'a Forster must be loyal." 

' Let him be as loyal as you will. But if there is to be fighting 
let others begin. Her ladyship is much concerned at the continual 
presence of these nonjurors.' 

In the early spring of the year 1712, my maid Jenny Lee ran 
away from me. I am not able to charge myself with the least 
harshness towards the girl, whom I treated with kindness from the 
beginning, although I could not forget the strange things I had 
myself seen, or else thought I had seen, when at Dilston Hall. But 
she was quiet and well behaved, and gave me no trouble at all 
except on that account; and always dutiful, affectionate, and 
respectful, clever with her fingers, and knowing how to restrain her 
tongue. I had already designed her in ruy own mind to marry, 
when my brother should have no more need of his services, his own 
man, Thomas Lee (not of the gipsy Lees), a handy and honest 
fellow, not more given to drink than most, and never drunk until 



r73 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

his master was first scan safe to lied. But the end was otherwise, 
for one day, hearing that the strolling players were at Wooler, only 
ten miles away, she could not be restrained, but packed up all she 
had — in truth, a sorry bundle — threw it over her shoulder, and 
marched off, leaving a saucy message to Mr. Hilyard, that he only 
was to blame, because he it was who first showed her how to act ; 
and a crying message to me that indeed I had been a kind mistress 
to her, and that she begged my forgiveness, but she must needs 
become a player, and no other way of life was tolerable to her. 

In the autumn of the same year, that is, in the year 1712, we 
heard of Lord Derwentwater's marriage. He was married on July 
the 10th, to Anna, daughter of Sir John "VVebb, Baronet, of Can- 
ford, in Dorsetshire. His wife's family were Catholics, so that, 
happily, there was no question of religion between them. She had 
been educated in a convent at Paris, and I believe that my lord 
made her acquaintance before he returned to England. By her 
mother's side she was also of good blood, being granddaughter of 
Lord Worlaby, and great-granddaughter to the Marquis of Win- 
chester. He wrote two or three days after his marriage to his 
cousin, Lady Swinburne, of Capheaton, from a place called Hallen- 
hope, in Gloucestershire, where he lived for two years with his wife, 
and where his son was born. His letter, which Lady Swinburne 
showed me, was full of joy, for which I thanked God, praying that 
his earthly happiness might be continued to him for a long life. 
We also learned that my lord had further agreed to spend two years 
in the south of England, among his wife's relations. I know not 
for what reason this article was asked for, or insisted upon, but I 
think with the design of protecting the young Earl from the designs 
and conspiracies of the more violent among his party. If that were 
the case, then I would to Heaven that they had made the agreement 
for three years and a half, at least, when all the trouble might have 
been averted. I am very certain that there would have been no 
disturbance in Northumberland, whatever they might do in Scot- 
land, but for the certainty that the great families in the county, and 
especially the RadcliiTes, would be drawn in. 

I have never charged my lord, either secretly or openly, with 
inconstancy, yet I confess that, at the first moment, when I heard 
of his marriage, I felt a pang, which I believe was natural, though 
it hath since been repented. Such a charge would be most unreason- 
able, on every ground: — that of his rank, because a man in his exalted 
rank must marry for the sake of heirs ; and because, if one woman 
says nay, there are plenty as good as she in the world — ay, and a 
good deal better. Then, again, a man may love many women in 
his life, I suppose, though that we cannot understand. Lastly, his 
choice was wise, and his wife beautiful, virtuous, and in every way 
worthy of her rank, and of her husband. 

I have told all that concerns the early life of my brother until 
the time when he became Knight of the Shire. You have seen how 
he was trained, and how fitted for the part he was fated to play ; 
that is, he was fonder of the country than of town ; he never 



HER LADYSHIP'S LETTER. 173 

nnlearned his country speech and manner ; he was loved by all ; he 
was of easy temper ; he was but little conversant with books or 
men ; he was roadily persuaded ; he was honourable and loyal, true 
to his word, and to his friends. 

In the sequel, it may seem to some that I presume to treat of 
matters beyond a woman's reach. Though I may be excused if I 
touch sometimes on these things, I would not, certainly, seem 
desirous of writing history. The Rising in the North will, I hope, 
be fitly treated by Mr. Hilyard, who promises to make such a book 
concerning it as Sallust made concerning the Conspiracy of Catiline 
(though not comparing its loaders with that bloodthirsty parricide). 
In this way he will do justice to the actors, and confer immortality 
upon himself. Sad it would be if so much learning were to be 
rewarded by no other monument than a tomb in Durham Cathedral. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

MR. HILYAED'S DREAM 

It was late in the summer of 1714 that Lord Derwentwater brought 
the Couxtess home. Such was his engerness to return, and hers to 
make acquaintance with her husband's cousins, that is to say, with 
all the gentry of the county, that ho started for the north on the 
very day that his two years expired, namely, on the 10th of July ; 
and, though he travelled with a great company of servants, baggage, 
and pack-horses, and stopped on the way to see York races, he 
arrived at Dilston Hall in the first week of August, to the joy and 
content of his friends and tenants. 

As for his brothers, Frank and Charles, they were both in London, 
but not, I understood, living together, and Charles spending at a 
great rate, that is to say, above his income ; his uncle, Colonel 
Thomas Radcliffe, was at Douay, where I hope the poor man forgot 
his imaginary pursuer ; the Lady Mary was gone to Durham, where 
she had a house ; and Lady Katharine to live in a convent at St. 
Germain's — honoured no more by the Court of the Prince, who was 
at Ear-le-Duc. Some of the Swinburnes were there to meet the 
Countess, and Mr. Errington, of Beaufront. Mr. Hilyard also, who 
was at Blanchland on Lady Crewe's business, went to Dilston to 
pay his respects. Tom was still in London, and I was at Bam- 
borough, thirty miles away. 

When, however, Mr. Hilyard returned, he informed me of every 
particular, even of her ladyship's dress, of which, for a man, he was 
observant, and made me understand that the Countess had taste and 
dressed in th<» mode. 

' As f o*- my lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' he looks certainly older and 
is -tiller in the cheeks than three years ago ; but his carriage is the 
same. Sure there is no other nobleman in the world like unto hini 
He was so good as to inquire of my welfare, after asking after yoas 
own health and his honour's.' 

'And the Countess?' I asked. 

'She is little of stature, but vivacious in speech; her age id 



174 VUKU1 HY fiUKSllLK. 

twenty ; her eyes are dark and bright, and she laughs readily. She 
has the manners of the town, and will prove, I doubt not, remark- 
able for her ready sallies ; and for a lively temper rather than for 
the dignity which is so conspicuous in some great ladies — in Lady 
Crewe, for example. Her own people all declare that she is kind- 
hearted and generous, though quick of speech.' 

' Did my lord seem happy ?' I asked. 

' There was no outward sign of anything but of happiness,' he 
told me. ' They are reported to be lovers still, though they have 
been married two years and more. All testify that never was a 
couple more truly fitted for each other, and yet ' 

He stopped short, but I knew very well what was in his mind. 

' And yet, three years ago,' I said, ' he was content to look for 
happiness with another woman. Young men sometimes mistake 
their hearts. Let us be thankful that, this time, my lord hath made 
no mistake. Those who remain lovers after two years are certainly 
married as Heaven intended, and will continue lovers to the end.' 

And yet, for my own part, I had never forgotten his image, which 
was graven on my heart. But he had forgotten ; he could show 
every outward sign of happiness. This, I say, being a feeble woman, 
I could not choose but feel. Afterwards I learned that a man may 
be happy, and yet not forget tender passages of old. We women 
are for ever saying, ' A man does this, and a man does that,' making 
comparisons of ourselves with the other sex, only to find out our 
own weakness and their strength. ' A wise man,' quoth King 
Solomon. ' is strong.' He doth not say that a strong man is wise. 
Yet methinks a man, because he is strong, may attain unto and 
reach that Wisdom, which is to the soul (also in the words of 
Solomon) like honey and the honeycomb, more easily than a woman. 

' I hear also,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that the Countess is red-hot for 
the Prince ; and am sorry to hear it. ' 

1 Why,' I replied, ' surely you would not have her on the other 
side ?' 

' Nay ; I would have her on the side of safety. Loyalty, faith, 
and kinship call the Earl into a certain path which is beset with 
danger. Let Prudence walk beside him, if only to hold him back.' 

Of late Mr. Hilyard often spoke thus, showing, though I knew it 
not, a spirit prophetic. Thus can learning make men foretell the 
storm, and see clouds to come even in a sky without a cloud. In 
affairs of State who would have looked for foresight from a simple 
Oxford scholar of lowly birth ? Yet the storm was at hand. The 
first sign of it came the very next day, namely, the 7th of August, 
in the year of grace 1714; Mr. Hilyard being in the forenoon on 
the high-road from which Bamborough lieth distant a mile and a 
half, or thereabouts, presently saw, making what speed he could 
along the way (which here is rough and full of furrows, so that to 
gallop is not easy), a messenger on horseback, who blew a horn as 
he went, and cried out with a loud voice unto any he met or passed, 
or saw working in the fields or in the cottage gardens, or at open 
door, or in farmyards by the wayside, saying : 



MH HILYARiyS DREAM. 175 

' The Queen is dead, good people. Queen Anne is dead !' 

With this news in his mouth Mr. Hilyard hastened to tell me. 

' Queen Anne is dead !' he said, for the fiftieth time. ' What will 
they do ? Nay, what have they already done ? It is a week and 
more that the Queen is dead. Have they proclaimed the Prince ? 
Is he already sent for? Did the Queen acknowledge him for her 
successor ? Oh that we could hear more ! If we knew what they 
have already done ! Why, anything may happen now — a peaceful 
succession, a civil war, a rebellion — what do we know ? And here 
sit I with folded arms, and can do nothing.' 

' You could do nothing,' I said, ' if you were in London, except 
shout in the streets and get knocked on the head.' 

It is a strange delusion of every man that the course of events 
lieth in his own hand, and that if he alone were in the right place 
to order and direct, all would go well. 

' Nay,' he replied, ' to shout in the street would be something. 
Besides, where pamphlets and verses and lampoons are flying, there 
could I be of use. At such times, a poet makes others shout.' 

Then we began again to guess and to wonder what was going to 
happen. If the Prince had been acknowledged by his sister for her 
successor, he would probably have been proclaimed on the day of her 
death. How did London take it ? If that were so, it would fare ill with 
the great Whig lords, like the Duke of Argyll and others, supporters 
of King William, Queen Anne, and the Protestant Succession. But 
as for families like ourselves, who had remained staunch supporters 
of the rightful heir, there would be a time of fatness. 

' His honour,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' cannot expect anything short of 
an earldom. That is the least that can be given to him.' 

' But,' I asked, ' how if the Prince surrounds himself with priests ?' 

' Why,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that would not be endured by the City, 

and a remedy must be found. Else ' he looked so resolute that 

I trembled for his Highness. 

' And what will the Nonconformists say ?' 

' As for them,' he replied, ' they must sit down and be content. 
Loyal they will never be. If they are not content, let them follow 
their grandfathers to America.' 

And so on. We made no manner of doubt, after much talking, 
that the Prince was already proclaimed, and Tom. ruffling with the 
best on the victorious side. 

' Heavens !' cried Mr. Hilyard, ' what a sight must it be ! The 
theatres resounding with loyal songs ; the houses illuminated ; all 
the brave soldiers drunk ; every sour and surly Whig made to put 
a candle in his windows or have them broken ; fighting at every 
corner ; bonfires in every street ; oxen roasted whole ; conduits 
running with wine ; the City Companies holding high banquet ; the 
universal feasting, singing, and drinking ! Not a glum face outside 
the conventicle. Heigho ! What would I mot give to be there 
among them all !' 

He then went on to construct the future history of Great Britain 
and Ireland, in w^ich he allowed the Prince to remaip- a Catholic, 



176 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

but exacted of him a pledge that his children should be brought « 
in the bosom of the English Church ; he would also be suffered i 
have about him such priests as wore necessary for himself alou 
Catholics being excluded from any share in Government, and tl 
Ministry being Protestants ; Lord Derwentwater was to be made 
Duke ; Tom to receive the rank and title of Earl of Bamborougr 
he himself was to be a permanent Under-Secretary, but I forget c 
what department — I think, however, it was of the Navy, becaus 
like all Englishmen, ne loved ships, and was ready at any time 1 
prove that the English fleets were being ruined. As for me, I w: 
to be advanced to the rank of Earl's daughter, and to be styled tl 
Lady Dorothy Forster. An unheard-of prosperity was to rewai 
the whole country for its return to loyalty. Thus, we were to drh 
the French out of North America, which, from the Gulf of Mexic 
to the North Pole, was to belong to the English ; we were to estal 
lish new trading forts along the coast of India, and oust the Frenc 
from their settlements in the East. We were to turn the Dutch ox 
of the Cape of Good Hope ; to extend our trade to China ; t 
occupy the islands newly discovered in the great Pacific Ocean. 

'Why,' I said, ' it is a dream of universal conquest.' 

' It is more,' he went on. ' We shall establish wherever we go tl 
teaching of the pure Gospel and the Articles of the Church < 
England ; we shall even convert to Protestantism the Lish peopl 
bo that they, too, like the rest of the United Kingdom, shall becon 
contented and loyal.' 

A thousand other prophecies, projects, and designs he had whk 
I forget or cannot write down, because it makes my head swi 
only to think of them. Mr. Halyard's head was always filled wil 
such inventions, fancies, and imaginations. 

Unfortunately, all this beautiful structure of history proved i 
be only what the French call a Chateau en Espagne, that is to sa 
a castle in the air, a child's tower built of cards, a dream of tl 
morning. For in a day or two we heard the choking news that tl 
Elector of Hanover had been proclaimed King without oppositio 
There were no bonfires for the Prince, no illuminations, no shoutu 
of a loyal mob. The ' Jacks,' we heard, were downcast and despai 
ing. At White's Coffee House the gentlemen looked at each oth 
with blank faces ; the Whigs cocked their hats and went wi' 
sprightly mien. As for poor Queen Anne, no one, so far as v 
could hear, seemed to pity her. It is the fate of Kings. In the 
lifetime they are the idols (if they believe all they are told) < 
their subjects ; they are models of virtue and piety ; they are e 
dowed by Heaven with genius incomparable ; yet when they die i 
one laments ; and the praise is transferred to the successor. Que< 
Anne is dead. Wherefore, without so much as a 'Poor Queen Anne 
throw up caps and shout for the pious and virtuous Prince who 
crossing the sea in the Peregrine yacht, no doubt full of love towart 
his loving subjects. 

' Alas !' cried Mr. Hilyard, when he had somewhat recovered ti 
blow. 'To the wise man who hath read history and reflects, tl 



MR. HILYARD-S DREAM. E77 

rocks resound with the clashing of arms, and the rivers run with 
blood.' He added, one after the other, half a dozen passages from 
the Latin poets, all of which fortified him in his gloomy opinion. 

After this it seemed as if there was no more peace or quietness 
for us, but for ever disquieting rumours. Mr. Hilyard would ride 
as far as Alnwick for news, or even to Newcastle. Sometimes 
Lady Crewe would send me a London letter. In this way we 
heard that London was greatly disturbed, but the City firm for the 
Protestant Succession ; that men were constantly flogged, flung into 
prison, and fined for loyalty to the Prince : the air was full of 
rumours. In the General Election of 1714, Tom was returned 
again without opposition : he also visited Lady Crewe and tho 
Bishop ; I have reason to believe that they advised him again to 
move with caution and Lave nothing to do with plots. Alas ! he 
was already drawn in, and now too far gone to recede. Besides, 
under his frank and easy nature there lay, as we all knew, a loyalty 
towards his friends which nothing could shake. This was shown 
in the end, when others held back and he led the way, 

' There is,' said Mr. Hilyard, speaking of this time, long after- 
wards, ' a point in the history of all conspiracies at which a man, 
who has gone so far, cannot retire. His honour is at stake — more, 
his very safety demands that he continue ; he is involved in the 
common ruin or the common triumph. In this respect the history 
of all conspiracies is the same.' 

As for this one, which was hatching, as one may say, for fifteen 
years, how should I know it, except from such shreds and scraps as 
Mr. Hilyard hath got for me and pieced together after a fashion ? 
The chief leaders who were known, such as Bishop Atterbury, the 
Duke of Ormond, and Lord Bolingbroke, had with them men of 
equal rank with themselves. With them were associated a great 
number of gentlemen : some of them Irish adventurers, some 
younger sons, some clergymen, who served as messengers — it was 
designed by means of these messengers to ensure risings on or 
about the same day in various parts of the kingdom. Commands 
were formed ; Tom, for instance, was to lead the Prince's forces in 
the north, assisted (because he knew nothing of the art of war) by 
Colonel Oxbrough ; honours were to be bestowed and places given 
to those who faithfully served the Prince. His Royal Highness 
would himself join the insurgents : at the first considerable success, 
it was confidently reckoned that the troops would break away and 
come over to us. As for the Highlanders, they were already safe ; 
our side would give them pay. The Established Church would be 
left undisturbed : and as for the Dissenters — why, in the opinion 
of most of these Tories, there were few punishments too bad for a 
Dissenter. 

' As for me, Tony,' said Tom, partly unfolding this design— but 
he knew very well that he could trust his man — ' as for me, I am 
assured of a peerage. That, with a grant of land — some of the 
confiscated estates — and a post in the Ministry, will satisfy me. I 
Stm not greedy. Hang it, man — (this bottle is finished : open 



i;8 DOROTHY FOKSTER. 

t'other) — prate not to me of prudence ! there are too many of as 
embarked not to make it a safe job. Besides, think you, Tony, 
that I like being my lady's pensioner ? What assurance hnve I 
that, in the end, she does not throw me over ; or that my lord hath 
devised the Bamborough estates to her, or to me after her death ? 
And then, am I to fall back upon Etherston, where my father is 
already so crippled that the most he can do is to keep himself, with 
his wife and children and my brother Jack ? What will it be 
when madam's jointure has to be added ? Why, half the gentle- 
men in Northumberland want such a windfall as a successful rising 
to put them on their legs again. We will burn all the papers, Tony, 
and hang up the rascal lawyers, who are Whigs to a man, and would 
turn honest people out of their own, because they owe a parcel 01 
debt.' 

He presently went back to London, and we waited, being pretty 
sure that the attempt would not be far off. 

' Oh !' I cried, ' they are strong men and brave men, and the 
country is with them I and yet they wait and wait, and the time it 
passeth by.' 

' Nay,' said Mr. Hilyard gently ; ' but this business of rebellion 
and civil war is a most dreadful thing, as well for the right as foi 
the wrong. Certain I am that not without grievous bloodshed, and 
perhaps a religious war as great and terrible as that in France a 
hundred and fifty years ago, will the Prince come to his own. Con- 
sider, I pray you, the sufferings of the wounded, the agonies ol 
widows and orphans, the ruined homes — alas ! the pity of it.' 

He stopped, being greatly moved — indeed, since he understood 
the measure of the danger and the certainty of the design, he had 
been much cast down — and presently fetched down a great volume 
in the reading of which he ever took great delight. 

' Let me,' he said, ' read to you something on this subject by the 
learned Burton, in his " Anatomy of Melancholie." ' 

He read a chapter concerning war and its dreadful evils. At the 
reading I was filled with shame that I should desire so grievous a 
thing. And yet, what to do, since the right cause must prevail, and 
there lies but one way ? 

' The right cause,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' Yes ; the right cause 
truly. Yet the trouble remains, in all human affairs, to find oul 
the right cause. For, except to women, who are ever certain and 
sure that they possess the Truth absolute, there is always so mud 
to say, first on this side, then on the other, and that without being 
a rhetorician or chopper of logic ; so that even I, for my own part 
do not always discern which is the right. Truly, I think that, it 
all our human institutions, there is so much of error in the founda- 
tion that it infects the whole. For, as to the Divine Right of Kings 
how know we who first made the first king ? Was it, perchance 
some tall and strong man, such as Mr. Stokoe, who elected himself t 

And have not, in all ages, kings supported themselves by wars 

that is. by strength ? Would it not have been better to have had 
no kings? Eome was never so happy as under a Republic, noi 



MR. HILYARD S DREAM. 179 

Athens as under her Archons ; the greatness of Sparta compareth 
not with that of Athens. Yet, again, is the ignorant and greasy 
mob to rule all, being swayed by brutal passions and ungoverned 
desires ?' 

' Do you mean, Mr. Hilyard, that the Prince's cause is not a holy 
and righteous cause ?' 

' I mean, Miss Dorothy, that the cause embraced by his honour, 
my patron and benefactor, and by you, whose humble servant I am, 
is also mine, whether it be right or wrong.' 

He bowed his head, and his eye glittered. Never before, save 
when he personated the Prince in the village inn, had I seen a more 
noble look in his face. He was, it is true, only my lady's steward, 
and a poor scholar, who had been Tom's tutor, notorious throughout 
the county for his buffooneries and his singing ; yet our gentlemen 
would have done well had they taken his counsel before they trusted 
their own. 

All this time Lord Derwentwater made no sign, and though an 
attempt has been made to prove that he was privy to the design 
from the beginning, it is not true. I say not that he suspected 
nothing. He would have been a stock and stone, and a fool to 
boot, not to know very well that serious things were contemplated. 
But, for his part, he was not consulted ; that is most certain. He 
wished for nothing but peace and quiet, and the society of wife 
and children. Yet the men who projected the rebellion knew very 
well that they were sure of him. It was not only that he was the 
grandson of King Charles — other sons and grandsons, such as the 
Dukes of Richmond and St. Alban's, were not ashamed, any more 
than the Lady Dorchester, once the mistress of King James him- 
self, to attend King George's coronation — it was because he had 
been the playfellow of the Prince, and was known to be of the 
highest honour and courage. 

Early in the year 1715 — I think in March — the Houses of Par- 
liament were opened by the King, who called the attention of both 
Houses to the assistance which the Prince was expecting to receive. 
Then we heard that Lord Bolingbroke had fled. Then other 
rumours reached us ; as that search for treasonable papers had 
been conducted in the barracks ; that all officers had been ordered 
to return to their regiments at once ; that the Prince had left 
Lorraine ; that the Earl of Mar had gone into Scotland — what does 
it matter to set down all the things we heard and talked in those 
days? 

' How can I tell,' asked Mr. Hilyard, ' which way London doth 
now incline ? In my young days we were all for King William 
and the Protestant religion ; nor can I understand how the better 
sor t — the Lord Mayor, the Aldermen, Common Council, and grave 
citizens — can have changed, unless it be that the stories we hear are 
true, and that there is not a man about the new Court who is a 
good Churchman, or even a staunch Dissenter. Indifference and 
unbelief the City will not endure any more than Popery.' 

Then we heard that there was a general flight from London Q& 

12—2 



180 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

all the Roman Catholics. This was followed by a proclamation 
ordering Papists to withdraw to at lease ten miles from London : a 
clergyman in Edinburgh begged the prayers of the congregation for 
a young gentleman that either was, or would soon be, at sea ; riots 
were reported from Oxford, Birmingham, and other places ; and 
yet the houses and the shipping on the Thames were illuminated 
when King George went up and down the river ; and a camp was 
formed in Hyde Park 

One day in August I received a letter from Lady Crewe, super- 
scribed, 'Haste! Post Haste!' She had, she said, heavy news to 
communicate about Tom. She had heard from a safe quarter that 
the Ministry had resolved upon seizing the persons of all the 
principal Jacobite gentlemen of the north and elsewhere. Among 
them she knew was included Mr. Thomas Forster the younger. 

'I know not,' she added, 'what correspondence (if any) my 
nephew hath had with the Prince and his friends, or what papers 
he hath in his possession. Do thou, however, Dorothy, enjoin him 
strictly from me, if he be riding north (which seems likely, since I 
have had no late tidings of him), that he burn all his papers, and 
then surrender himself, lest worse follow, unto the nearest magistrate, 
until the storm be past. In this counsel the Bishop joins heartily. 
One must be, he says, in such times as these either the reed or the 
oak. Tom is not strong enough to be the oak. Let him be the 
reed, and meet the tempest with bowed head. This for thy private 
eye.' 

We read and discussed this letter all the day. "We knew nothing 
— whether Tom was still in London, or whether we could write to 
him. Mr. Hilyard was of opinion that, the times being clearly 
perilous, the safest place for a Tory gentleman was the Tower, and 
for safety's sake the more of them there the better. 

' Because,' he said, ' they will not hang them all, and they dare 
not hang one.' 

It was soon after dark in the ovening, the day being the 28th of 
August, the people of the village being all abed, and the place 
quiet, that we heard a clattering of hoofs in the road outside, 
stopping at the gate of the Manor House ; and Mr. Hilyard went 
outside, curious and perhaps disquieted, as one is always before the 
arrival of misfortune. He returned immediately, bringing with 
him no other than Tom himself. His shoulders were bent, his face 
pale, his eyes anxious, his clothes covered with dust and mud. 

'Quick, Dorothy!' he said; 'a drink. Let it be October. Quick!' 

He drained about a quart of ale, and then sat down the mug with 
a sigh. 

' Why — so — that makes a man of me again. I have been in the 
saddle for fifteen hours, and am well-nigh spent. There hath been 
as v»t no messenger or officers after me ?' 

'None, Tom.' 

•Well, I can lie here, I think, one night. To-morrow I must ba 
up, and away again.' 



THE FUGITIVE. igj 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE FUGITIVE. 

After he had taken some supper and was refreshed, Tom began to 
tell us more. 

'Everything,' he said, was discovered — I know not by what 
treachery. The King, who seems anxious not to offend the House, 
asked permission to arrest six of the members, of whom I was one, 
80 that there was time for warning ; and for my own part, whatever 
the others did, I saddled my horse and rode away, and, I dare say, 
the messenger after me. But I think he hath not travelled quite so 
fast, and I may be safe here for one night at least.' 

He laughed, but uneasily. In his eyes there was the look of a 
hunted creature, and he started at the least sound. Presently, how- 
ever, he became so. heavy with sleep and weariness that he must 
needs go to bed, and so, messenger or no messenger, threw himself 
upon his bed and fell asleep. 

We sat up late, thinking how best to hide him ; yet not so late 
but that before five in the morning I was up, expecting no less than 
to find the messenger at the door. But there was no one. Presently, 
Tom came, awakened by Mr. Hilyard, and grumbling that he could 
not have his sleep out. But there was no time to lose, for the 
village was already stirring. 

The garden of the Manor House is separated from the sands only 
by a field of coarse grass. By crossing this field, which can generally 
be done without being seen by any of the villagers, one can gain 
access to the castle by the old postern. It was thus that we honied 
Tom to his first place of concealment — a chamber known to no one 
but Mr. Hilyard and myself. It is below the level of the inner 
bailly, but yet not underground, because its window is above the 
rock, and looks out across the sand and the sea. The chamber was 
perhaps once used for a place of confinement, though the window 
is larger than one commonly finds in such gloomy places. It is 
approached by certain vaults now ruinous and partly fallen in, the 
entrance to which is itself half hidden by broken stones and briars, 
so that it looks like a broken hole in the wall. Here we thought he 
might lie hidden as long as he pleased. 

At first Tom was as pleased as a child with a new toy. As soon, 
however, as he felt himself safe from pursuit, he began to reflect 
that a cell might be secure but yet uncomfortable. So anxious 
were we about the main point that we gave no thought to anything 
else, and considered not the wretchedness of waiting all day long in 
a stone chamber whose window has no glass, and where there is 
neither chair, bed, nor table, nor any convenience at all for comfort. 
The conveyance of these things to the chamber without observation 
or suspicion gave me the first of many lessons in the difficulty of 
being secret ; anybody may easily keep a secret, but no one knows, 
except those who have unhappily been forced to try, how hard it is 
to do a thing secretly, so as neither to be seen nor suspected. In a 



igj DOROTHY FORSTER. 

few days, the history of the warrant and Tom's flight might bo 
known even in this remote village : the messengers would certainly 
come here in search of him ; it was, therefore, of vital importance 
that his presence should be suspected by no one. How, therefore, 
all that day I conveyed small pieces of furniture to the end of the 
garden and dropped them over the wall for Mr. Hilyard to pick up 
and carry them across to the castle ; how, with his own hards, that 
ingenious man, as ready with a carpenter's tools as with a Latin 
poem, constructed and fitted first a window-shutter and afterwards 
a rude kind of window-sash ; how he carried blankets, candles, wine, 
tobacco, and provisions, to the cell, need not be related. No one, 
from the mere fact of seeing us go up to the castle, would have 
suspected anything, because it was my daily resort. 

At nightfall we carried a goodly supply of supper and whisky to 
the cell, and there I left Mr. Hilyard, who came not away until 
Tom was so much fortified by strong drink that he was in a condi- 
tion not to fear the ghosts of the castle, and was, in fact, already 
asleep upon the hard bed we had made up for him with blankets 
and pillows strewn on the stones. 

Thus our charge began. As early in the morning as was possible 
without causing any who saw to ask why, I went to the castle, 
carrying breakfast under my cloak. All the morning I sat with 
Tom. At one o'clock I took him dinner ; in the evening Mr. Hilyard 
brought supper and sat with him. 

After a time our prisoner grew peevish, and hard to please. He 
was anxious to change his quarters, and had it not been for a scare 
that we had would perhaps have gone off to seek shelter elsewhere. 
Of this I will speak presently. 

He laughed scornfully at Lady Crewe's counsel. It would be 
safe, he said, for him to surrender when the Prince himself could 
safely surrender, and not before. There was enough against him 
to hang a dozen men, if hanging was to begin ; and he had left all 
his papers behind to be seized by the officers. 

' When ths ship is sinking,' he said, ' a man cares first to get off 
alive. I knew not when the warrant would arrive, so mounted and 
rode away without waiting for anyone. Why, what matters ? If 
they had not taken my papers, they would have taken some other's.' 

It was a grave business, indeed ; and graver than we looked for 
at first, when we thought he was to be arrested only on account of 
his opinions. 

' So it is, however, Dorothy,' he said, ' and nothing is left but to 
push on the Prince's interest. Fear not, child ! Why, all is ready ; 
the country is with us ; the train is laid. Yet a week or two and 
thou shalt see an explosion will startle all England. Fortune and 
rank are before us when we have succeeded.' 

' And if we fail ?' Mr. Hilyard muttered with serious face. 

' Tony,' said Tom, ' I take that for a most peevish, ill-natured 
speech. " If wo fail," he says ! Why, do you ask a sailor when he 
embarks what he will do if the ship be wrecked ? or a soldier before 
ft battle, how if he be shot ? Hark ye, brother— there is one com- 



THE FUGITIVE. 183 

fort for me if we fail. I risk my neck, but not my estates, for I 
have none. So talk no more of failure, Tony, if you love me.' 

Whenever I think of this time, and consider that we were engaged 
upon so dangerous a piece of work, much I wonder that we carried 
it through with success. Yet we did, thanks to the extraordinary 
precautions taken by Mr. Hilyard. For, first, he would have none 
in the secret at all — no, not even Tom's old companions, Ned Swin- 
burne and Perry Widdrington, though they rode over a dozen times 
for news of their friend. 

To them Mr. Hilyard replied that he had good assurance of his 
honour's safety, but that until Mr. Forster chose to reveal his 
whereabouts it would be better for his friends not to inquire. Nor 
would he suffer any of the people in the village to be informed, nor 
the maids in the house, saying that these would be the first to be 
suspected, and, if they were arrested, would certainly, from sheer 
terror and dread of the whipping-post, tell all they knew. ' Pinch 
a rat,' he said, 'and he will squeak.' As for the additional food 
required, we both pretended great and uncommon appetite. Mr. 
Hilyard, for his part generally a small eater, though valiant with a 
bottle, assumed the guise of a desperate trencherman, comparing him- 
self with the Grand Monarque himself, who is said to devour daily 
enough to maintain ten ordinary people (I mean not in the rhetori- 
cal sense, in which he hath devoured— that is, impoverished — his 
whole country, but in the literal sense). Then, after nightfall, he 
would steal out, carrying a great basket laden with next day's pro- 
visions, to the chamber in the castle, where Tom would take his 
supper, and they would talk, drink, and smoke tobacco till the pri- 
soner was sleepy. This we did during the whole of the month of 
August, and half-way through September, Tom all the time expect- 
ing every day to hear of a rising over the whole country. No news 
coming to us, he chafed and wondered by what mischance the pro- 
ject was hindered. I cannot doubt that what Tom told me was 
true, and that so many noblemen and gentlemen all over the country 
should be in the plot, should have given solemn promises, and should 
be looking for the business to begin, fills me now with amazement 
that the result was so meagre. Alas ! it costs more than promises 
to make a Rebellion become a Revolution. 

As for the scare of which I have spoken, it was caused by the 
visit of Mr. Ridley, Justice of the Peace, with three or four messen- 
gers, armed with a warrant to search for Tom. With him was my 
father, grave and anxious, my brother Jack, and my half-brother 
Ralph, now a lad of thirteen or fourteen. 

'Dorothy,' whispered my father, 'surely thou hast not been so 
foolish as to hide Tom in the Manor House ?' 

' Nay, sir,' I replied truthfully, and aloud. ' Tom ia not here. 
Mr. Ridley might like, perhaps, to content himself.' 

Mr. Ridley told us that he was charged to look for and to arrest 
Mr. Thomas Forster the younger ; that he had been traced north as 
far as Newcastle ; and that it was believed he had taken refuge in 
this, his own house. I assured him that he was not there. At first 



loir DOROTHY FORSTER. 

he was for taking my word, but his officers murmured. Therefore 
he said that he must, with my permisskra, visit the house. This ha 
did in a civil and discreet manner, being a gentleman of as old a 
family as our own, and by no means desirous of finding Tom. 
They went into all the rooms, one after the other ; first my own, 
with the maids' room beside it ; Tom's room next, with his bed 
ready made, but no sign of its having been used, and Mr. Hilyard'a 
last. 

Then the officers whispered together again, and, with Mr. Ridley, 
rode up to the castle- wall, where all dismounted, and went into the 
ruins, my father and I following. 

' I ask not where he is, Dorothy,' said my father. ' Sure I am 
that he would tell thee. But is he safe ? Mr. Ridley tells me that 
there is as much against him as against the Duke of Ormond.' 
' I believe, sir,' I replied, ' that he is perfectly safe.' 
They searched the great keep from top to bottom ; they peered 
down the well ; they climbed the broken stairs ; they looked into 
the open and roofless rooms, along the broken walls ; and they found 
nobody. But they did not know of the ruined vaults, where the 
ground slopes northwards to the postern-gate, nor did they know 
that in a chamber beneath their feet, looking across the sands, sat 
at that moment Mr. Forster himself, with Mr. Hilyard, a tankard 
of ale between them, and each with a pipe of tobacco in his mouth, 
as if they had been at White's in St. James's Street. 

Then they went away, and so we were quiet, except for our scare. 
For my own part, I confess that I was pale with terror, and my 
heart beat, but chiefly on account of the boy Ralph, who still kept 
running here and there, as if, like the foolish and ignorant lad that 
he was, he wished to discover his brother's hiding-place ; and I was 
ashamed of myself for being so bad an actor, because my cheeks and 
eyes made it manifest to some that I was in fear, which made the 
men continue the search more narrowly. 

' Humph !' said my father at length, when the officers desisted 
from the search, and left the castle. ' Send me Mr. Hilyard to- 
mor-ow morning.' 

B it Mr. Hilyard told him nothing, and so discreetly conducted 
himrelf that he left my father in ignorance whether or no he knew 
where Tom was hidden. 

O le officer remained in the village. He knew nothing concerning 
Mr. Hilyard, but thought that if he followed me about he should 
certainly learn something. Wherefore, I made feigned expeditions, 
and led him many a pretty dance to Belford, Lucker, Beal, and 
North Sunderland, and would have taken him farther afield (because 
he had tender feet), but that my own legs would carry me no 
farther. While I was thus tramping across the fields, Mr. Hilyard 
was sitting with the fugitive in his retreat, keeping him cheerful. 

And presently the officer went away too, and we heard that tbey 
were looking for Tom in the houses of his friends. 

' Let them search everywhere,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' I fear nothing 
but bis own impatience.' 



THE FUGITIVE. 185 

Tom could not, in fact, endure the confinement of his cell ; once 
or twice he broke loose, and I surprised him walking about in the 
inner court of the castle by day, as if secure that no one would 
enter : it is irksome for an active man to be kept all day long in a 
little chamber half underground. Then he railed at poor Mr. Hil- 
yard for not taking his friends into confidence ; for not bringing 
him more beer ; because his food must needs be cold ; because he 
would not sit with him all day long ; and was as unreasonable as a 
child, taking the service and patience of this faithful creature as if 
it were a thing to which he was entitled. At night, with his punch 
and his tobacco, he was easier, and told, over and over again, how 
he became a conspirator : chiefly because he hoped for wealth, and 
could not bear to think that he was, save for the small inheritance 
of Etherston, a dependent on the bounty of his aunt. I think that 
if Lady Crewe had given him some part of the estate which she 
designed for him it might have been better. Yet who would assure 
her that this part, too, would not go the same way as it had gone 
before? After all, it is the way of the county ; Tom was not the 
only Northumberland gentleman who loved a lavish way of life ; he 
was not the only man who cast in his fortunes (after they were 
ruined) with those of the Prince (which, I now perceive, were 
desperate), in the hope of winning back all, and more. But if he 
had owned something he might have been content to wait. 

Other news Mr. Hilyard got together ; as that Lord Derwent- 
water remained perfectly quiet . Tom declared that he was never in 
any conspiracy or plot whatever ; his house at Dilston harboured 
none of the secret messengers ; to all appearance he was entirely 
occupied in the management of his estates, and in the new house 
which he proposed to build, and, indeed, had already begun, but 
had no time to finish. I have seen a letter written by him in this 
very month of August, in which he expressed his earnest prayer for 
peace and quiet, ' of which,' he added, ' we have had so little as yet.' 
Ah ! had this most amiable of men been born in a lowlier station ! 
Could he, without reproach, have spent his life careless of princes 
and politics, how happy would he have been ! Some of us seem 
especially born for happiness ; they evidently desire it both for 
themselves and for those they love ; they are by nature benevolent, 
generous, active in relieving those who suil'er : such an one was my 
lord, born to be himself happy and to make others happy. 

It was, I remember, on September the loth, being Friday (a most 
ominous and unlucky day of the week), that Mr. Hilyard came 
running home with a face greatly agitated. 

'They have begun!' he cried. Then he sat down and looked 
•ound him as one who is trying to understand the meaning of 
-»-ii;gs. 'They have begun! Alas! It needed not a prophet to 
fo 'etell, when the Queen died, the blood which should flow.' 

" Who have begun, Mr. Hilyard ? Tell me — quick !' 

" Let us go tell his honour. He was right ; they have begun, and 
no man can tell the end. It is easy to talk of rebellion ; but to play 
at it — there, indeed ! But let us to the castle and tell his honour.' 



1 86 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

He rose, and shook his head dolefully. 

' What hath been begun ?' I repeated. 

'The Scots have begun. Four days ago they proclaimed the 
Prince at Kirk Michael. I have it from the gipsies, some of whom 
were there and saw it done. They are reported to be already 5,000 
strong.' 

This was news indeed. Should we be kept back when the Scots 
had led the way ? Why, in a moment, all the things I bad heard 
since I was a child rushed to my brain. The rising was always to 
begin in Scotland ; it was to be supported by the Highlanders ; it 
was to be followed by risings in Ireland, the West, the No.-th, and 
the Midland Counties. The project was always the same. And 
now, after many years, we were to see the great design carried out. 
The thing was so great, that to think of it actually as begun made 
one's head to reel. 

' Yes,' said Mr. Hilyard gravely, ' his honour will have his chance 
at last. It is an Earl's coronet — promised by the Chief of a House 
which is famous, as everybody knows, for keeping promises — -the 
gratitude of the Prince on the one side ; on the othsr — what ? At 
the best, flight in France ; at the worst — nay, Miss Dorothy, look 
not so pale. In war, even in civil war, which is fiercer and more 
sanguinary, there are a thousand chances. What ! The Prince 
may be successful ; the army, as they hope, may join him ; the 
sailors, as they desire, may mutiny ; the people, as they trust, may 
love Divine Right more than they fear the fires of Smithfield ; they 
may love the comely face of a young Prince more than they dread 
the Inquisition. What do I know ? Even London — all is possible ; 
all — believe me. Wherefore, courage ! we are embarked upon an 
enterprise full of uncertainty. But courage ! all may yet go well, 
though one may still fear the worst.' 

With such despondency did Mr. Hilyard receive the news which 
filled my foolish heart with joy. But he was never a Tory at heart, 
being so jealous for the Protestant religion, that he could never 
believe the Church safe under a Catholic King. He went off, there- 
fore, hanging his head, to carry the news to the castle. 

Tom received the news with so much joy, that at first he was for 
throwing off all concealment, and at once proclaiming the Prince on 
the steps of Bamborough Castle. Then he would ride about openly 
and resist the authority of the warrant ; or he would take up his 
residence at the Manor House ; or he would enlist as many men as 
possible, and go across the Border to join the Scots. All these steps 
Mr. Hilyard combated, pointing out that the pursuit and search 
after him would be the hotter for the Scotch news ; that to resist 
the warrant would be madness, unless he were assured of his friends' 
backing ; and that no Northumberland men would cross the Border 
to fight beside the Scots. 

' However,' said Tom, ' one thing I am resolved — I will leave this 
cursed doghole, and that at once. Where else canst thou stow a 
man, Tony ?' 

' Why, indeed,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' there ia no place so snug as 



THE FUGITIVE. 187 

this. But, if proper precautions are used, I see not why Fame 
Island — but that when all else fails — or Blanchland, or there are dry 
holes up Devilstone Water, or there are the miners' huts at Allen- 
dale, or, if the worst comes to the worst, there are the gipsies, who 
would take your honour across the Cheviots by a safe path, and so 
to Lord Mar himself, if you are assured ' 

' Assured, man ! I am assured of nothing, save that it is my only 
chance. But first let me talk with some of my friends.' 

He was so restless that, to keep him quiet, we agreed to ride with 
him to Blanchland, where he might confer with Lord Derwentwater. 
We rode by night for greater safety, resting at the house of a friend 
who shall be nameless — of friends there were plenty — in the day. 
There was to be one more night journey for me with Tom, but of 
that I knew not then, and rode beside him proud and joyful that 
the long suspense was to be ended and the battle fought. The God 
of War is worshipped, I am sure, with as much faith by women as 
by men. To me, thinking while we rode silently in the light of the 
moon upon the open moor or in the black shade of the woods, my 
heart glowed within me, and it seemed as if we were only doing at 
last what ought to have been done long ago : since the right was 
with us, the Lord was with us. 

' Yes,' said Mr. Hilyard, when I told him this. ' But still I say, 
happy the man who joins the last, when he is quite sure the Lord 
is with the cause, and hath proved His favour by manifesting His 
might. How know we that, if Heaven intends to interfere, the 
time for interference hath yet arrived ?' 

Thus it is with men who exhort each other to be strong, to have 
faith, to rejoice in right and justice, and to make poor women feel 
certain. Yet, when the time comes, there are so many doubts and 
hesitations that one looks on in amaze, and asks where faith hath 
gone. 

No messengers had come to Blanchland, nor, we found, had any 
knowledge of the business reached to that place at all. We rested 
there one night, and the next morning I rose early, and, leaving 
Tom in this lonely retreat, rode across the moor with Mr. Hilyard, 
to Dilston, not without some misgivings of my meeting with the 
Earl (which were unworthy of him as well as of myself). 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

WHAT WILL HE DO? 

When last I saw Dilston it was in the dead of winter ; the woods 
were bare of leaves, and the dark Devilstone Water poured through 
its narrow rocky banks in a broad stream ; now the rocks were 
hidden with trees and brambles, alder, wych-elm, and rowan, and 
bright with summer flowers ; while, as one stood upon the little 
bridge, the shrunken water was like a little thread of silver running 
among great mossy stones. 

The courtyard of the castle was full of people — some old men and 
women waiting for the doles which were freely given every day j 



1 83 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

some farmers granting to have speech with my lord ; some stable- 
boys, grooms, and men with guns and dogs. As we went up the 
steps which lead to the great hall, he came out himself and met us. 

' Why, Mr. Hilyard !' he said, laughing ; ' my lusty Tony ! how 
goes it with Mr. Forster ?' And here I threw back my hood and he 
recognised me. ' Dorothy !' he cried, his kind eyes softening ; ' my 
cousin Dorothy !' He gave me both his hands. ' It is four years 
since we met — and then — you are well and happy, cousin ?' 

' Quite well, my lord ; and as happy as Tom's affairs will let 
me be.' 

' Come, let me take you to the Countess. 

Happiness makes young mothers beautiful. Who could be more 
beautiful than the woman who rose to meet me, tossing her little 
boy in her arms, while his saucy hands pulled and tangled her hair 
rolled back from her forehead ? She was small of stature, and 
possessed bright eyes, and such a quickness of expression as I have 
never since seen in any other woman. She looked at me so curiously 
that I perceived she knew something of what had passed between 
my lord and me. Then she made me sit down, took off my hood 
with her own hands, and gave me a cup of chocolate, begging me to 
rest after my ride across the moor. 

' And where is Tom ?' asked the Earl. 

' He is now at Blanchland, where he much desires to see your 
lordship. You have not learned, perhaps, that the Scots are in arms.' 

' The Scots have risen ?'• he cried, with change of colour. ' This 
is great news indeed !' 

' The Scots have risen ?' cried the Countess, clasping his arm with 
her little fingers. ' This is good news indeed !' 

'I heard it from some gipsies,' said Mr. Hilyard. 'There was a 
hunting-party, where the Prince was proclaimed ; and they are said 
to be already many thousands strong. Mr. Forster, on hearing the 
news, left his hiding-place in the castle, and hath ridden to Blanch- 
land, where he desires the honour of a conference with your lordship.' 

' I will ride over this morning,' said the Earl thoughtfully. 

' But Dorothy will stay with me,' said his wife ; ' we will have 
our conference while you have yours.' 

He left us. As he rode away with Mr. Hilyard, he met outside 
the castle Mr. Errington, of Beaufront, to whom he told the news, 
and asked for counsel. 

' My lord,' said Mr. Errington gravely, ' look around you. To 
whom do all these fair lands belong ?' 

' Why, truly,' he replied, ' to myself.' 

' Then, my lord, do not, I charge you, risk so goodly an inheri- 
tance, save at the sure and certain call of honour.' 

I know not what passed between him and Tom, but I believe 
that Tom was all for action and the Earl for prudence. Meanwhile, 
we women sat conversing of the children, and of household things, 
and of my lord's habits and tastes. By many little gentle touches 
and hints the Countess mado me feel that she had heard of me, and 
how once her husband loved me, and gave me to uudwstaud that sh« 



WHAT WILL HE DOf B89 

was not jealous of any woman, because she knew that she possessed 
his whole heart (which was, indeed, the case, yet I hope I should 
never have given her cause for the least jealousy). 

My lord came back the same day, and after supper we had a long 
and grave discourse, during which I discovered that he was truly 
much in love with his wife, and uneasy at the mere thought of 
exposing her and her children to the sorrow and unhappiness which 
would attend a failure ; that he now regarded the cause of the 
Prince as becomes one who hath so great a stake to lose ; that the 
Countess was far more eager than himself (as knowing less of the 
danger) ; and that he looked upon the news with distrust and sus- 
picion. 

' Let us wait,' he said, ' for the English people to give their voice. 
Without the will of the people the Prince can never return.' 

' It rests,' said the Countess, ' with the natural leaders of the people 
to guide them.' 

My lord laughed gently. 

' My dear,' he said, ' a Catholic in this country cannot be a leader. 
Let us wait. Now, cousin, tell us of yourself and of the hearts you 
have broken since you conquered mine, but kindly gave it back to 
me for future use.' 

The news of the Scottish rising made the Government more 
anxious than ever to secure the leaders of the plot in England. 
Therefore Tom w-as quickly warned that he must quit Blanchland 
and seek safety elsewhere. First, he stayed a short while at the 
house of Mr. Patten, the Vicar of Allendale, and next — but it is a 
tedious task to tell of all his hiding-places ; for wherever he went, 
presently, by some treachery, the messengers in search of him got 
upon his track, and he had to change his quarters. Mr. John Fen- 
wick, of Bywell, kept him for awhile, and here he would certainly 
have been caught, but that the messenger stayed half a mile from 
the house to get the aid of a constable, so that Tom had just time 
to escape, leaving his bed warm, so to speak. This Mr. Fenwick 
was expected to have joined the rising, but hung back, no doubt to 
his own great satisfaction, when he found how things were going. 
For this I neither praise nor blame him ; on the one hand, a man is 
right to hesitate when so great a thing as his estate and the fortunes 
of his children are at stake ; on the other, he ought not to raise 
vain expectations in the minds of his friends. Had all gone out 
who were expected or promised, there might have been seen a dif- 
ferent ending. 

As for me, I remained at Dilston, and for a fortnight more wo 
expected news, but heard little. Mr. Hilyard went backwards and 
forwards between Newcastle and Hexham, bringing in such intelli- 
gence as he could learn. The Scottish rebels, it was certain, num- 
bered 12,000 men. The Prince was expected daily ; they wero 
masters of all Fife, with the seaboard ; Colonel Oxbrough, Captain 
Gaf.coigne, and Mr. Talbot had arrived at Newcastle to stir up tho 
north, and remind loyal gentlemen of their pledges ; the Whigs at 



1 90 VUKOTHY t'ORS'l £.R. 

Newcastle were bestirring themselves ; men were looking at each 
other and expecting a civil war ; but London was reported firm for 
the Protestant Succession, and the Prince and Princess of Wales 
every day going without fear among the people. And, alas ! Lady 
Crewe, from anxiety for her nephew's safety, had fallen into con- 
vulsions, or fits of some other kind, and was lying on her bed 
grievously ill. 

I think it was about the 28th of September that Charles Radcliffe 
brought us the news of the warrant issued against Lord Derwent- 
water. He rode all the way from London to warn his brother ; the 
messenger charged with his arrest was already at Durham. 

' Why ?' asked my lord. ' What have I done that they should 
arrest me ?' 

' You are the Prince's companion and a cousin,' replied his 
brother. ' Is not that enough ? They think they will strike the 
Prince by striking you.' 

' Faith !' said Lord Derwentwater, smiling. ' They know not his 
Highness who think he can be struck through another.' 

After receiving this disquieting intelligence, my lord sat for a 
good while in silence, and we women waited patiently to hear his 
conclusion. Then he rose, and began to walk up and down the 
room in grave thought. We sat still with never a word. 

' Wife,' he said, at last, ' hast thou any counsel for thy husband ?' 

She shook her head at first. But he kissed her tenderly, and 
bade her speak what was in her mind. 

'I know,' she said, taking his hand and kissing it, 'your great 
love for your children and your wife. You would not rashly do 
aught to imperil those you love. This I know full well, and am 
thankful therefor. But — oh, my lord ! — remember the days when 
we were little at St. G-ermain's, and you were a page of the Prince, 
and I, with my schoolfellows, did all that women can — prayed for 
him daily. Should it be said that Lord Derwentwater, when the 
chance came to bring the King to his own again, hung back, and 
left to others the honour ? Nay, my lord ' — (she threw herself 
upon his neck) — ' I know : it is thy life, as well as thy fortune, 
that hangs upon this chance. Thy life — oh, my dear lord ! my dear 
lord ! and mine with it.' 

' Sweetheart !' — my lord folded her tenderly in his arms — ' were 
there a chance, believe me, Derwentwater would be the first. Yet, 
I doubt — I doubt whether the chance be not a forlorn hope. It is 
already a fortnight and more since we had tidings of the insurrec- 
tion, and as yet nothing hath been done, so far as we can tell. 
Patience, therefore. Let not thy quick woman's wit jump to the 
conclusion that the business is done before we know if it be well 
begun.' 

Then he turned to me and said, with his sweet smile, in which 
present friendship was combined with the memory of the past : 

' Fair Dorothy, we have had many talks in the former time over 
this and other matters : give me thy counsel.' 

'Oh, my lord 1' I said, moved to tears by the sight of this tender. 



WHAT WILL HE DQy *9» 

ness, 'what have 1 to say whicn her ladyship hath not already 
better said ? Yet I pray your lordship to do nothing rashly, and to 
think always of your wife and tender children.' 

And at that moment the nurse opened the door and brought them 
in — two little creatures with fair curling locks and blue eyes. The 
elder, who could walk, broke from his nurse's arms and ran across 
the floor with outstretched hands, crying to his father. The Earl 
caught him up and kissed him fondly. When he set the boy down 
again, his eyes were filled with tears. 

' My mind,' he said, ' is made up. I am to be arrested, who have 
no knowledge of any plot at all. I will surrender.' 

He looked at his wife ; but she cast down her eyes, and he left 
the room. 

' He will surrender !' said Charles. ' What, without a blow ?' 

' He will surrender,' said the Countess, 'and I, who looked to see 
him riding gallantly at the head of his regiment ' 

I have since that day often considered the case. I think, now, 
that he was right. For, if he surrendered, it was only one man the 
less (because he would never force his own people into the service) ; 
and, if he did not surrender, he would have to become, like Tom, a 
wanderer and fugitive, until he was forced, as Tom was forced, into 
taking up arms. 

But in this, as in everything else, fate was too strong for him. 

He repaired that same day to the house of Mr. J3 n, Justice of 

the Peace (I repress his name for pity, because his repentance 
must since surely have been as great as his fault was astonishing). 
This magistrate, after hearing what his lordship had to say, refused 
(illegally) to accept his surrender (whereby he brought my lord to 
his death), and persuaded him to return to his own house again. 
This my lord did in great heaviness. 

' The stars,' he said, ' in their courses fight against me. All are 
of one mind. They say my death is sought. They will not suffer 
me to surrender. What next — ah ! Dorothy, what next ?' 

One thing was certain, that, if he did not surrender and would 
not be caught, he must go into hiding. And this he did. And for 
nearly three weeks the Earl of Derwentwater became a fugitive, 
living I know not exactly how or where, but in hiding always. 
And for us who remained behind there was nothing left but to 
pray and to hope. If we women were Jacobites before, judge what 
we were now, when all our hopes depended on success ! Charles 
stayed with us, waiting. He was full of courage and of heart, yet 
even he confessed that London was strong for the Protestant Suc- 
cession — but London would come round. As for our armies ! They 
should drive King George's troops before them like cattle ; why, 
Lord Mar had with him already 12,000 men, and still they came 
flocking in — it did one good, at such a time, to have so gallant and 
brave a lad as Charles Radcliffe with us. 

He knew, as well, that the three secret messengers who usually 
travelled in the north had arrived at Newcastle, viz. : Mr. John 
Bhafto (who was afterwards shot at Preston) ; Captain P«,obert 



•9* DOROTHY FORsiER. 

Talbot, a Roman Catholic, formerly in the French service (ho wa« 
executed for hiarh treason) ; and Captain John Hunter (hanged at 
.Liverpool). "With them were Colonel Oxbrough, who had served 
under King James II. ; the two Wogans, Xicolas and Charles ; and 
Mr. James Talbot (who afterwards escaped from Newgate, but 
being retaken was executed). Other messengers there were, but I 
forget their names. 

I must not forget that one day, when we were talking about 
other things, I asked him for news of his brother Frank. 

He shook his head. 

1 Frank,' he said, ' is troubled with a grievous congh, which keeps 
him much at home. Yet would he have ridden svith me north, but 
was prevented.' 

He then went on to tell me that he was held and bound captive 
by love, and that with an actress. 

' She was in his lodging, he said, ' when last I saw Frank, and 
sprang at me like a tigress when I asked him to come with me. 
" He go a-fighting ?" she cried. " Xever ! for any Prince or King 
among them all. G-o tell my lord that I have got his brother, and 
am keeping him safe." Strange ! Frank is bewitched.' 

I thought no more about the matter at the time, but afterwards 
I remembered it. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE MEETING AT GREEXRIG. 

There are many stories told of Lord Derwentwater'a hiding- 
places ; as. for instance, that he was obliged to conceal himself in 
the Queen's Cave, where Queen Margaret and her son were kept in 
safety. It is true he met his wife in Deepden, because it is a retired 
spot not likely to be disturbed : indeed, there was no need for such 
hiding in caves, for he had made by his benevolence and generosity 
friends enough among his tenants and the poor people, who would 
have died rather than give him up. It was, however, intolerable 
that a man of his exalted rank should be in hiding at all, and before 
long there began to be spread abroad in whisper that a council of 
some kind was to be held. 

No one knew whose turn might come next. The case of Lord 
Derwentwater might be that of any gentleman in the county. 
When the meeting was held at which action was resolved upon, 
there was hardly a man present who did not expect his own arrest. 
It was at a place called Greenrig, upon the open moor, near 
Sweethope Lough. Five years before the same company met 
together, but then for friendship and for feasting. Then all faces 
were gay ; now all were gloomy. Even with those who were young 
and those who had nothing to lose, it is a serious thing to draw the 
Bword. My lord's eyes were anxious, and his forehead lined ; Tom 
was grave, his look suspicious, as if a messenger might lurk in 
every clump of heather. I know not how all wtre called together, 
but there canao Lord Widdringtcn ; Sir Will : am Swinburne and 



mt. iMt.t.iii\u at uxEENRIG. 193 

two brothers ; Mr. Clavering, of Callalee ; Mr. Fenwick, of Bywell ; 
Mr. Errington, of Beaufront ; Mr. Shafto ; Mr. Stokoe ; and a few 
others. Charles Badcliffe was there — we all knew what was in the 
heart of that gallant boy. The Countess was present, her cheek 
flushed and angry, her eyes flashing. There came with Tom (besides 
Mr. Hilyard) his friend, who became afterwards his chief adviser in 
the field, Colonel Oxbrough, whom now I met (for the Countess 
and I rode across the moor with Charles) for the first time. I may 
not speak of the dead with blame, but sure and certain I am that if 
Tom had not fallen in with this gentleman he might have been now 
lord of the great Bamborough estates, and these free and unen- 
cumbered, as Lady Crewe intended. Colonel Oxbrough was bom 
to a good estate (perhaps he ran through it in the manner common 
to many Irish landlords) : he served under King James : he was a 
Catholic : in manner, he was unlike any of the other Irishmen en- 
gaged in this business, not loud in talk and hectoring like Captain 
Gascoigne, nor boastful like Captain Wogan, but of a calm, cold 
way of speech which had more effect than loud and boastful talk ; 
in appearance he was tall and thin, with bright eyes, aquiline nose, 
and firm lips : in manner he was courtly, and in demeanour mild 
and thoughtful, always showing great regard to the opinions of the 
man with whom he conversed. Yet of all the rebels, this man was 
the most determined ; he had made up his mind that for Ireland 
(for he cared nothing about England or Scotland) it was necessary 
that the King should be a Catholic : with that object he would go 
to the death willingly, but, further, I think he cared little. 

The servants held the horses at a convenient distance, and the 
gentlemen gathered together, some lying on the turf and some 
standing. The moor, purple with heather and ling, stretched away 
on every side ; there was no chance of interruption. As for the 
Countess, with whom I came, she stood beside her husband, her 
hands laid upon his left arm, her cheeks flushed and angry, her eyes 
flashing, gazing into his face as if she would read his thoughts. As 
for hers, I knew them. 

Then Lord Derwentwater spoke, slowly and seriously. No one, 
be said, had the interests of the Prince, his lawful King and 
Sovereign, more at heart than himself. This was so well known, 
that a warrant was issued, as they all knew, for his arrest ; no 
doubt his fate was determined before he had a chance of striking 
a blow. He desired at this meeting to take his friends' opinion 
whether the time had truly arrived for rising in the name of the 
Prince. For himself, he could not pretend to know the feeling of 
the country ; he had lived in it but five years, and never in London 
at all. But he was fully assured, he said, that nothing should be 
attempted in England, whatever the Scots might do, until it was 
clear, first, that the voice of the whole country was in favour of 
the Prince ; next, that a rising in one county would be immediately 
followed by others in all parts ; and lastly, that the temper of the 
army and the fleet should be favourable. ' For, gentlemen,' he 
cont'iwed, ' let us consider, I pray you. not only ourselves, who 

13 



194 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

have a stake in the country which you hazard in this chance and 
fortune of uncertain war ; not only our own lives, which the 
common soldier risks for sixpence a day, and every sailor who goes 
afloat ; but also our wives and children, who will be ruined with us 
if we fail. Eemember the many grievous cases after the late un- 
happy Civil War, when English noblemen and gentlemen were 
almost begging their bread in France and the Low Countries. Also 
let us consider those poor faithful creatures, who will take pike and 
firelock and follow our fortunes. Therefore, I say, unless the way 
is made plain to me, I will not so far weaken the Prince's cause as 
to throw away foolishly my fortune and my life.' 

At these words there was a murmur of approbation ; but the 
Countess clutched at my hand, murmuring, ' Oh ! he knows not his 
own strength. He has but to declare himself !' Then the gentle- 
men looked upon each other, and then upon Tom, who presently 
spoke. What he said was simple and in plain words, for he was no 
speaker, to the effect that his own part and share in the design was 
so great, and his name so fully involved, that there was no hope 
left for him, save in the success of the undertaking ; that he was 
resolved to live no longer the life of a fox in a hole, but should, 
unless something was determined at this meeting, ride straightway 
across the Border and join the force of Lord Mar. As regarded 
the other gentlemen, each knew for himself how far he had gone, 
and whether it was safe to go back or go on, and he should not say 
one word to persuade anyone into an enterprise which might lead 
to fortune or might lead to death. Every man had his own life in 
his hands, and sometimes it was necessary to stake that life in the 
game. And so on, speaking, as it seemed to me, very sensibly and 
to the point, concluding by saying that he, for one, would draw and 
persuade no one to follow him. 

' He is not a man of books,' whispered Mr. Hilyard ; ' but 
Demosthenes could not have pleaded the cause of the Prince more 
artfully.' 

Lord Widdrington followed . I knew little of his lordship, except 
from hearsay, and therefore I refrain from speaking about him, 
He was a Catholic, and at this time about thirty-eight or forty 
years of age, married to the daughter and heiress of Sir Thomas 
Tempest, of Stella ; he was also the grandson of Lord Fairfax, and 
therefore a cousin of my own. His family were lords of Wid- 
drington even in the reign of Henry I. ; one of them was killed in 
an engagement with General Lilburne during the Civil Wars ; 
another fell at the Battle of the Boyne ; the present lord is brother- 
in-law to Lord Langdale, whom his sister married, and to Mr. 
Townley, of Townley, who joined the Rebellion, but was acquitted. 
Other connections his lordship had which proved fortunate for him 
in the end, when all those who had interest, save one or two, 
managed to get a pardon. Lord Widdrington said, briefly, that it 
was clearly the duty of loyal gentlemen to take every opportunity 
of pressing forward the cause of the lawful Sovereign, and that he, 
for one, should be pleased if *>he gentlemen present should think 



THE MEETING A T GREEA'RIG. 195 

the time opportune, and the hope of success so reasonable as to 
justify them in taking up arms. ' But,' he added 'I applaud the 
maxim of Lord Derwentwater, that for the Prince's friends to get 
killed, and their property confiscated, would be a poor way of help- 
ing his Highness.' And with that he ended. 

Sir William Swinburne spoke next to the same effect ; and then 
Colonel Oxbrough, seeing that no other gentleman had anything to 
say, took off his hat and begged to ' be allowed speech. He said, 
speaking without any passion, and in a low voice and slowly, that, 
in his serious opinion, the times were never more ripe for action ; 
that since the death of the late Queen men had been looking at each 
other in wonder that nothing was done ; yet he, for one, would be 
slow to accuse the loyalists of England of indifference, since he was 
persuaded that nothing was wanting except a leader and an example. 
' Why, gentlemen,' he went on, ' here is before our eyes an example 
which is better than myriads of words. The Earl of Mar began 
with a thousand men, and hath now with him fully twelve thousand. 
His army is like a ball of snow, gathering strength as it rolls on- 
ward. Do you wish for a better example ? Ireland is waiting for 
the signal ; in the west of England they are also waiting ; Cumber- 
land and Lancashire are full of loyal men ; London counts thou- 
sands of the Prince's friends ; his Highness is even now preparing 
to cross over and take the field in person. What better opportunity 
can you have ? What more can you desire ? If any other con- 
sideration were wanting, there is the fact that you are all very well 
known for the Prince's friends. What private promises you may 
each have made I know not, but would have you remember that 
treachery hath already been at work ; I doubt not that in a few 
days you will be secured and clapped into separate prisons, or hurried 
away to London, where you will be severally examined, and none 
will know what the others will answer ; so that for very fear of 
betraying one another you may verily do it. This, gentlemen, is a 
disagreeable thing to contemplate. Yet there seems, in my humble 
opinion, only one way to prevent it.' 

Well, still they looked at one another, for no one would be the 
first to propose so grave a step. Colonel Oxbrough stood silent, 
with grave composed look, and made no sign of impatience. But 
then the Countess herself sprang into the middle of the circle, and 
with the air and manner of a queen, flung her fan upon the ground 
before them all, crying, ' Take my fan, then, gentlemen, and give 
me your swords !' 

My lord's face flushed crimson, as he picked it up and restored it 
to her. 

' Gentlemen,' he said quietly, ' enough talking.' 

He took off his hat, and drew his sword, crying, ' God save King 
James !' All their swords flashed, and every man tossed up his hat, 
crying, ' God save King James !' 

' Why,' said Colonel Oxbrough quietly, ' I knew there could be 
but one end. Madam ' — he bowed low to the Countess, who stood 
with clasped hands, panting breast, flushed cheek, and parted lipa 



196 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

gazing upon her husband — 'Madam, as it was said of Queen Eliza- 
beth, so shall it be said of your ladyship — "Dux fcemina facti." ' 

Mr. Hilyard, who stood behind me, and had no sword to draw, 
groaned and sighed, but nobody heard him except myself. 

'A!-as!' he said, whispering, 'Colonel Oxbrough is a dangerous 
man : he knows that with many the surest spur to courage is fear. 
That is why, in the ancient temples, Fear is represented and painted 
with a lion's head. It is fear which drives them all. His honour 
is afraid because he knows not how much hath been reported of his 
sayings, meetings and conspiracies in London ; yet sure I am he 
would have done better to give himself up, and so have obtained a 
pardon after reasonable delay. As is Mr. Forster, so are the other 
gentlemen, who are all afraid, and with reason. I except my Lord 
Dei-wentwater, who would have had us wait — but his hand was 
forced. Pray Heaven there be hereafter no cause for repentance !' 

After the shouting there was much talking together and discus- 
sion, in which Lord Derwentwater took little part, standing silent 
and contemplative. When everyone had had his say, mostly in a 
confused babble, there was silence, and Colonel Oxbrough was heard 
recommending or suggesting. At last all was resolved upon. On 
the following morning they were all to repair to the Greenrig Burn, 
there openly to band together in the name of King James. 

So they parted ; Lord Derwentwater with the Countess, Mr. 
Errington, Sir William Swinburne (it was lucky for Sir William 
that he was persuaded by his lordship to go home, and to stay there 
awhile), his two brothers, Lord Widdrington with his two brothers, 
and two or three more, rode back to Dilston ; Tom, flushed and 
excited, to Blanchland, with the rest of his friends, among whom, I 
forgot to mention, was Mr. Patten. 

' Sir,' said this worthy minister, ' I now venture to ask a favour 
of your honour.' 

' What is it ?' asked Tom ; ' I think this is a time for action, not 
for asking favours.' 

' It is, sir, that your honour, who, I hear, will receive the King's 
commission to command his Majesty's forces in England, will be 
graciously pleased ' — here he bowed down to the ground — ' to confer 
upon me, unworthy as I am, the office of chaplain to your honour.' 

'Why,' said Tom, ' if that be all, my chaplain shalt thou be. And 
yon, Tony, don't look glum. Think you that there shall be no 
more feasting and drinking? Wait, man, till we have got the 
Prince to St. James's, and then will we make a night of it !' 

' At such a juncture,' said Mr. Patten severely, ' Mr. Hilyard can 
surely think of something besides drinking and playing the fool.' 

'I think, besides,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'of Eehoboam and his coun- 
sellors.' 

' Dare you maintain, sir ' 

• Hark ye, sir !' Mr. Hilyard replied ; ' meddle not with me, chap- 
lain or no chaplain. The only favour I ask of his honour is that I 
may follow him and serve him in the field as I have served him at 
home. I dare say I shall be able to carry a musket as well as auy 
ploughboy in the ranks.' 



THE MEETING AT CREENRIG. 197 

• You to fight ! Oh, Mr. Hilyard F I exclaimed. 

'Nay, sister,' said Tom, ' all shall go who will. Yet I drag none 
against his inclination. Tony, give me thy hand, honest friend. 
Fight beside me, or stay at home with Dorothy, as thou wilt. If 
we come well out of this, old friend, of which I make no doubt, 
thou shalt see I am not ungrateful. My poverty thou knowest, but 
not my wish to reward thee for all these years of service.' 

The tears came into Mr. Hilyard's eyes ; he looked as if he would 
have spoken, but refrained. 

They had a merry evening, after all, with shouting enough for 
the whole of the great army they were going to raise, and Mr. Hil- 
yard singing as if he was the most red-hot Jacobite among them all. 
Perhaps at the moment, with the whisky punch before him, and 
amid the shouts and applause of his friends, he thought be was. 

It is not for my feeble pen to write a history of the events which 
followed. "What do I know of armies and of battles ? I stayed at 
Blanchland alone, except for my maid and the rustics of that retired 
place, seeing no one save from time to time when I rode across the 
moor to Dilston, and learned all that the Countess could tell me, 
which was little. Had we been able to look into the future, which 
is mercifully withheld from us, we should have been wretched 
indeed. Women can only believe what they are told. Did not 
Colonel Oxbrough promise a general rising ? We were strong in 
hope, having little fear for the issue, but only for the chances of 
battle. Victory was certain, but brave men must die before tho 
trumpets of the victors blow. 

In the morning early the gentlemen were in the saddle. 

1 Courage, Dorothy !' said Tom ; ' we are going to certain victory. 
Farewell, dear lass." 

So he bent from his saddle and kissed me, and then clattered 
away under the old arch, and rode off gaily with his friends. The 
next time I saw Tom he was again with his friends, but, alas ! in 
different guise. 

The last to go was Mr. Hilyard, equipped for the first time in his 
life with a musket and a sword, and two great horse-pistols stuck 
in his holsters ; but he showed little confidence in these weapons. 

' So, Miss Dorothy,' he said, 'I go a-fighting. For myself, I have 
little stomach for the sport. I think we be all fools together. 
Heaven send us safe home again ! Phew ! I am sick already of 
bullets, as well as of marching and shouting. Farewell, sweet 
mistress. Alas ! shall I ever come back to be your servant again ?' 

CHAPTER XXV 

THE FIRST DAYS. 

Needs must that I say somewhat concerning the first days of this 
unlucky Rebellion, because many things foolish and false have been 
said and written concerning its early beginning. And first, it is 
most true that not one gentleman joined (except, perhaps, the B-rl) 
who was not possessed beforehand of a general knowledge (I say 



198 DOROTttlt SORSTER. 

general, not full and particular) of the design, and had pledged his 
honour to carry it out when called upon. Yet nothing was decided 
upon until the meeting, wherefore all spoke truth in saying at their 
trials that the business was not premeditated. This being so, I 
hope that no one will repeat the idle accusation which has been 
brought against my brother that he drew them all in. In truth, 
there came but two who can be fairly charged upon him. One of 
these was Mr. Craster of Craster, and the other his cousin, Tom 
Forster, afterwards hanged at Liverpool. Lastly, I declare that not 
one among them all would have moved but for the things they were 
told by the secret messengers, such as Oxbrcngh, Gascoigne, and 
Talbot — I mean such things as have been already repeated concern- 
ing the temper of the country. Never was a company of honourable 
gentlemen (as I have since fully learned) so vilely deceived and 
betrayed to their own destruction as these unfortunate gentlemen 
of Northumberland. Had I known then what now I know, I would 
myself have stabbed Colonel Oxbrough to the heart with my scissors. 
For there was no rising in the West of England at all, and only a 
riot or two in the Midland Counties ; nor any rising in Ireland, 
where most we expected and looked for one ; and as for the great 
promises which we had, it will be seen presently to how much they 
amounted. Yet the poor gentleman may himself have been deceived, 
and in the end he met his death with great fortitude. 

There were about twenty gentlemen who rode out with Tom. 
They were, if I remember rightly, Mr. William Clavering, of Calla- 
lee, and his brother John ; Mr. George Collingwood ; four Shaftoes 
— namely, Mr. William Shaf to, of Bavington, and three others ; Mr. 
George Gibson ; Dick Stokoe ; Mr. George Sanderson, of Highlee, 
and Mr. William Sanderson ; Mr. Will Charleton the younger, of 
the Tower ; Mr. John Hunter ; Mr. William Craster ; my cousin, 
Thomas Forster ; Mr. Thomas Lisle ; Mr. Thomas Kiddle the 
younger, of Swinburne Castle ; Mr. John Crofts, of Wooler ; Mr. 
John Beaumont ; Mr. Robert Cotton, and Mr. John Cotton, his 
son. With them rode Mr. Patten and Mr. Hilyard, the former 
swelling like a bishop (as he already thought himself), in a new 
cassock and great wig, and the latter riding last, with anxious face. 
Some of them rodo out from Blanchland, but most came from 
'.he North. 

They made no stay at Greenrig, but, thinking the place incon 
venient, they rode on to the top of an adjacent hill, called the 
Waterfalls, whence they presently discerned Lord Derwentwater 
approaching with his friends. It hath been reported, and I have 
never heard to the contrary, that on the evening before he left the 
home to which he was to return no more, and in the grounds of his 
house, the Earl met a ghost, or spirit, who spoke to him, and pro- 
mised (being one of those spirits who are permitted to tell the truth 
with intent to lead astray) that he should never fall in battle. I 
know not how this may be : I saw and spoke with my lord but once 
Again, and he made no mention of this circumstance. But I am 
well assured that all night long his favourite dog howled and cried 



THE 1-1RST DA VS. 199 

and, when he mounted his horse in the morning, the creature reared 
and backed, and could not be persuaded to advance ; which makes 
me think that a friendly spirit barred the way, as was done unto 
Balaam a long time ago — only, in this case, the angel became not, 
visible ; and, when one of the grooms led the horse forward, he fell 
to trembling, and became covered with sweat and foam. Moreover, 
my lord found, soon after starting, that the ring which he always 
wore (it had been his grandmother's gift to him) was lost or left 
behind. In spite of these ill omens and manifest warnings, he bore 
himself with a cheerful countenance ; and, if he had misgivings, 
communicated none of them to those around him, who were, indeed, 
a joyful company, laughing and racing as they rode. He had with 
him his brother Charles ; Lord Widdrington and his two brothers ; 
Mr. Edward Howard, brother of the Duke of Norfolk ; Mr. "Walter 
Tancred, brother of Sir Thomas ; Sir William Swinburne's two 
brothers, Ned and Charles ; Lord Widdringtons brother-in-law, 
Mr. Richard Townley ; Mr. Errington, of Beaufront ; Mr. Philip 
Hudson, uncle to Lord Widdrington ; and one or two others. The 
numbers of the gentlemen thus joined together amounted in all to 
about sixty horsemen, of whom twenty were servants. This was 
not, to be sure, a large force with which to take the field against 
King George's armies. But they expected no more at the beginning, 
and rode north that day to Rothbury, the news of what was doing 
spreading like wildfire through the country. At Rothbury their 
numbers were much increased ; though, for the present, they would 
enlist none of the country people, only bade them sit down and 
wait, for their time should come before long. Now this, Mr. Hil- 
yard hath always maintained, was their first and capital error ; for 
they should have listed all who came that were able to carry pike 
and firelock, and not to have refused any. Then, whether their 
army were well or ill-equipped, the fame and rumour of the great 
numbers flocking to them would have been spread abroad, and so 
many thousands encouraged to enlist. Besides, those who would 
have joined, on seeing the gallant show of gentlemen and tbcir 
mighty following, lose heart, or became cold, when they had passed 
by, and remembered only the danger, when their offers to join might 
have been accepted with joy. However, this was only one of the 
many mistakes made, Colonel Oxbrough, the principal adri*er, being 
one who knew not the country, and vainly imagined that the rustics 
of Northumberland are as hostile to the Government, and as full of 
hatred, as are the wild kernes of Ireland, which waa a great mistake 
to make. 

Next day, being Saturday, the 7th of October, they marched upon 
Warkworth ; and there, at the gates of the old castle, the General 
(no other than Tom), wearing a mask — but why, I know not, be- 
cause all the world knew him — proclaimed King James III. of Great 
Britain. It was done with trumpet and drum, and one acting as 
herald (I suspect, Mr. Hilyard ; but he hath never avowed the fact). 
On the next day, being Sunday, the General sent orders to Mr. Ion, 
vicar of the parish, that he should pray for King James ; and, on 



2oo DOROTHY FORSTER. 

his refusing, commanded Mr. Buxton, Chaplain of the Forces (Mr, 
Patten being, as it were, Domestic Chaplain to the General), to read 
the service, which was done, and a very stirring sermon was preached, 
full of exhortations to be manful to the cause, and to fight valiantly. 
On Monday, the 10th, they rode to Morpeth, and there received 
seventy gentlemen from over the Border. They were now 300 
strong, and all gentlemen. Had they taken all who offered, they 
might have been 3,000 strong. Here they were all rejoiced by the 
news that Mr. Launcelot Errington, with half a dozen companions, 
had boldly captured the castle on Holy Island. They did not hold 
it long ; but it is by such feats of bravery that the hearts of others 
are uplifted. If they could keep the place, they could signal friends 
at sea, who were expected daily, with supplies of arms and officers. 
At Morpeth they again proclaimed the Chevalier. Here they 
were joined by a good many other gentlemen ; but still they re- 
fused the common people. Now, considering that foot soldiers 
are the greatest and most important part of an army, it seems 
madness not to have taken them. ' A dozen times,' Mr. Hilyard 
hath said since, ' was I tempted to proffer my humble counsel to the 
General ; but refrained, seeing that I was the lowest of the gentle- 
men volunteers, and he now surrounded by noblemen and officers. 
Yet I would to Heaven I had had but a single hour with him alone 
over a pipe, as in the old days, when he would honour me by asking 
my mind !' 

Another dreadful mistake, though one which was afterwards 
pleaded in excuse, was that the gentlemen did not bring with them 
every man that could be raised. Lord Derwentwater, for example, 
could have raised and armed well-nigh a thousand men ; yet he 
brought none with him, except half-a-dozen servants. 

' They were struck,' said Mr. Hilyard afterwards in London, ' with 
that kind of madness, in virtue of which men do nothing right, but 
pee everything as through a distorted glass, and so commit one fault 
after another, and do all wrong. It is not a phrensy, ecstasy, or the 
fury which comes from love, study, or religious fury, but one which 
deprives the reason of judgment, the body being sound and well ; and 
is, I doubt not, a demoniacal possession, permitted for high purposes 
by Heaven itself, against which we ought to pray. Who but mad- 
men would have refused to enlwt the common sort? Who but 
madmen would have left behind them their own people, who were 
an army ready to hand ? Who but such would have gone into a 
campaign without arms, ammunition, ordnance, provisions, or any 
thought for supplying them ?' 

Their first design was to get possession of Newcastle, of which 
town they had great hopes ; and they sent Charles RadcliJf e forward 
with a troop of horse to take and hold Felton Bridge, which was 
done with great valour. 

And here they met with their first disappointment, expecting that 
Newcastle would open its gates to them, whereas, on the contrary, 
the gates of that city were closed tight, and the citizens and keelmen 
armed, and the friend? of the Prince had to lie snug and quiet 



THE FIRST DA VS. 201 

There is no doubt that they were promised the town would receive 
them, and a great accession to their strength it would have been, 
being strongly fortified, rich, populous, and inhabited by a sturdy 
and valiant race of men, most of whom would have followed the 
rising tide of success. However, this failed, and on the 18th of 
October the town was occupied by General Carpenter with Hotham's 
Regiment of Foot, and Cobham's, Molesworth's, and Churchill's 
Dragoons. Meantime, therefore, the insurgents withdrew to Hex- 
ham, where they stayed three days, the men billeted upon the 
inhabitants, but all well-behaved and among friends, though the 
vicar refused, like Mr. Ion of Warkworth, to pray for King James. 
Here the joyful news came that Lord Kenmure, with the Earls of 
Nithsdale, Carnwath, and "Wintoun had taken arms in the south of 
Scotland, and bad set up the King's standard (worked by Lady 
Kenmure, very handsome in blue silk, with white pennants) in the 
town of Moffat. After a little marching and enlisting they crossed 
over the Cheviots, Lord Kenmure commanding, and came to Roth • 
bury, whence they sent a message to General Forster to know his 
mind. The latter replied that he would join them, and accordingly 
the English forces marched north and joined the Scotch ; after 
which they crossed the Border again and went to Kelso, where, on 
the Sunday, Mr. Patten preached a very stirring sermon from the 
text, ' The right of the firstborn is his,' handling the subject, as Mr. 
Hilyard assures me, most masterly. 

On the Monday the men were drawn up in the market-place, 
where, the colours flying, the drums beating, and the bagpipes play- 
ing, the King was solemnly proclaimed, and the Earl of Mar's 
manifesto read aloud. Their army consisted now of about 1,500 
foot and 700 horse, to oppose whom General Carpenter had no more 
than 900 men, horse and foot, and these raw soldiers for the most 
part. There were, therefore, two courses open to them — I mean 
sensible courses — either they might march northwards and attack 
the Duke of Argyll's army in the rear, which would greatly strengthen 
the Earl of Mar and embolden his followers ; or they might cross 
the Border again and fall upon General Carpenter before he got any 
reinforcements. Thus would they strike a most telling blow, and 
one that would encourage the whole party in England. But, alas ! 
counsels were divided ; there were jealousies between Scots and 
English ; the Scottish officers refused to enter England, while the 
English would not enter Scotland. They therefore marched with- 
out purpose or aim, except, as it seemed to friends and foes alike, 
with intent to escape General Carpenter, along the northern slopes 
of the Cheviots, until they came to Langholm in Eskdale, where it 
was resolved, against the opinion of Lord Derwentwater, to invade 
Lancashire, most of the gentlemen believing (on the faith of pro- 
mises and the assurances of the Irish officers) that in this Catholic 
county 20,000 men would rise and join them. The sequel shows 
how much reliance oould be placed on these assurances. On the 
way south a good many of the Scots deserted and went home ; on 
Penrith Fell they encountered, being then about 1,700 strong, tb,e 



202 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

whole body of militia, called together and arrayed by the sheriff, 
armed with pitchforks, pikes, and all kinds of rustic weapons. They 
numbered 10,000, but at sight of the insurgents they turned and ran 
without a blow being struck. It was a bloodless victory, and ought 
to have raised the spirits of our men ; but it did not, because the 
leaders were already dashed (and showed it in their bearing) by the 
smallness of their numbers and their own dissensions. The only 
men among them all, Mr. Hilyard tells me, who kept their cheerful- 
ness were Charles Radcliffe, Colonel Oxbrough, whose courage and 
calmness no misfortunes could depress, and Mr. Patten, who, until 
the end came, could not believe that an army in which were so many 
noblemen and gentlemen could fail to be victorious. After occupy- 
ing Appleby, and obtaining a good number of horses, also saddles, 
firelocks, and other useful things, they were joined by some of the 
Catholic families of Lancashire, together with a few Protestants ; 
but as for the 20,000 men who were to rally round them, they were 
nowhere visible. At Appleby about 500 Scotsmen deserted the 
camp, and marched homewards again, selling their guns as they 
went for food. Among them were sixteen or seventeen gentlemen 
of Teviotdale, who liked not the prospect. I would to Heaven*that 
every man had deserted, and the whole army had melted away ! 
From Appleby they marched to Kendal, where Tom's godmother, 
Mrs. Bellingham, was living ; but she refused to see her godson, 
being all for the Protestant Succession. From Kendal they made 
for Lancaster, which they entered on the 7th of November, and 
there, indeed, they expected great additions, but I cannot hear that 
many came in. They stayed at Lancaster for three days, and were 
hospitably received by the ladies, who dressed themselves in their 
bravest, and invited the gentlemen to drink tea with them. On 
the 10th of November they reached Preston — which was to prove 
the end of their invasion. Here they were joined by nearly a 
thousand Catholics and their followers. And, as I have enumerated 
most of the Northumberland gentlemen, let me also set down some 
of these Lancashire names who, to their honour, were so loyal to their 
Prince. They were Mr. Richard Chorley, of Chorley, and his son 
Charles (the father shot at Liverpool, and the son died in gaol) ; 
Mr. Ralph Standish (pardoned) ; Mr. Francis Anderton (sentenced, 
but pardoned, though I believe he lost his estate of £2,000 a year) ; 
Mr. John Dalton and Mr. Edward Tildesly (both pardoned) ; Mr. 
Richard Butler, of Raclife (died in Newgate), and Mr. John Beau- 
mont (escaped) ; Mr. Hodgson, of Leighton Hall ; Mr. D.'ilton, of 
Thurnham ; Mr. Hilton, of Cartmel ; Mr. Butler, of Rowcliff ; and 
others whose names I have been told, but have forgotten. I must 
not omit the unfortunate Mr. William Paul, clerk, Master of Arts, 
of St. John's College, Cambridge. This poor man, the Vicar of 
Horton-on- the- Hill, Leicestershire, gave up his living, and trudged 
north, dressed in a blue coat, laced hat, long wig, and sword, as if 
he was a layman, to join the simy (and meet an ignominious death, 
as it proved, upon the scaffold), and all, I believe, because his old 
f eiend.Tom Fors.ter, who was kind to him when he was a poor scholar 



THE FIRST DA VS. 203 

of St. John's College, Cambridge, was General. Hefnot only joined 
the army, but he did excellent service in bringing news of General 
Carpenter's strength and movements. 

At Preston great hopes were raised, so many coming in, whose 
rebellion of a day or two cost them dear. Reports were brought 
from Manchester that the leading people in the town were well- 
disposed towards the Prince. Lord Derwentwater himself went 
thither secretly, and held a meeting with some of the gentlemen 
there in order to arrange for a rising, but I have not heard with 
what success. Then it was expected that the Duke of Ormond 
would have joined them with at least 3,000 men. I know not, nor 
have ever been able to learn, why nothing was done in Ireland or 
in the West of England. Opportunities lost never return, and 
although I am convinced that never in the history of the world 
were gentlemen more deceived, yet I cannot understand why, the 
cause itself being so righteous, the end was not more successful. 
All might havG gone well. Alas ! where was the prudence ? The 
English General (my poor brother) had no military knowledge, and, 
though he was advised by Colonel Oxbrough, the lords and gentle- 
men of the council were too proud to be led by him, and Tom was 
not strong enough to command. How could he command his old 
friends and fellows against their will ? 

Meantime, while they were considering whether they should 
advance on Liverpool, General Wills had joined General Carpenter, 
and was marching on Preston, resolved to attack the rebels with 
such forces as he had. Look now ! King George's troops were but 
1,000 in all, or 1,200 at the most, and the insurgents had nigh upon 
3,000 ! Doth it not make one's blood boil to think how, being more 
than twice their enemy in number, brave men's lives were thrown 
away, and a righteous cause destroyed ? But to enumerate the 
mistakes made by our people makes me sure that the blessing of 
Heaven was withheld from the very first, we know not why, and it 
is well not to inquire too closely. Weak human wit cannot discover 
why the Right doth not always triumph, or why, for the sins of 
princes, the people should be punished. 

' I know not,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' what was said and proposed at 
the councils of war, save that Mr. Charles Radcliffe came from 
them always in a rage, and the Earl hanging his head, and the 
General troubled and perplexed. I think that if Colonel Oxbrough's 
advice had been taken, things would have put on a different face. 
A quiet and resolute gentleman, who at the worst never showed the 
least resentment when his advice was not taken, nor any indignation 
when Scots and English quarrelled, nor spoke an evil word against 
those who broke their promises, but took all as part of the day's 
work, and went to the gallows as calmly as he went an parade. 
This it is, methinks, to be a eoldier !' 



*°4 DOROTHY FORSTER. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

MR. HILYARD RETURNS. 

Then, from the day of Tom's departure, for the space of six weeks, 
I heard nothing save when I rode to Dilston, and heard what my 
lord, who found means to send a letter every week, told the 
Countess. As I know now with what misgivings he entered upon 
the Rebellion ; how quickly he perceived, but could not remedy, 
the errors committed during its conduct ; and how there fell upon 
him, very soon after the beginning, a heaviness and despondency 
which grew daily deeper — ah ! noble heart ! — -I have never ceased 
to wonder how he could sustain the pretence of light heart, hope, 
and cheerfulness which he presented in those beautiful letters of 
his. There was nothing — no, not one word — in them which might 
lead his wife to suppose that all was not going well. They were 
on the Border ; they were with Lord Kenmure and the Scots ; they 
were already so many strong ; they were coming back, and would 
gather in the recruits so freely offered at the outset ; they would 
soon be 20,000 strong— Avith more to the same effect, and the whole 
so set and ornamented with terms of endearment for his wife, and 
of tender messages of love to the innocent children, that the heart 
of her who read them was led aside from the contemplation of tha 
danger to think only of the honour and glory of the expedition. 

' That my lord should be foremost,' said the fond wife, ' in bring- 
ing the Prince to his own is not wonderful ; nay, it is his duty. 
But it surprises me that the gentlemen of England have not long 
ago resolved to accomplish so easy a task. Why, it will be but a 
ride through the country, from Northumberland to London.' 

It was, truly, to end in a ride through the country ; but not such 
a ride as her ladyship pictured to herself. 

Then we pleased ourselves in wondering how the Prince would 
be received by London ; when the coronation would take place ; by 
what safeguards and concessions the liberties of the Church of 
England would be secured ; how great a thing it would be once 
more to have a Court, with a young King and Queen (but a wife 
must be found for his Majesty, and who should she be ?), to which 
Catholic gentlefolk might resort ; and how charming, after the quiet 
country life, to enjoy the pleasures of the town — with many other 
speculations equally pleasant and profitable. 

In those days the Countess talked with me a great deal concerning 
her childhood, when first she made the acquaintance of her future 
lord. They were together at St. Germain's, she being in the 
Ursuline Convent, with one or two of her sisters (she was the 
eldest of five daughters), and he a page and companion of the 
Prince. The English children at St. Germain's had more liberty 
than, it seems, is accorded to the French, and they all knew each 
other. 

' My dear,' she said, in her quick and candid manner of speech, 
K l blush not to own that I loved him from the first, when he was 



MR. HIL YARD RETURNS. 205 

only a beautiful boy, dressed up like a soldier to please the Prince, 
with his brown hair in a ribbon, and a little sword by his side ; I 
loved him then, and I have loved him ever since, though little did 
I think I should ever get my heart's desire. For supposing we 
played together, and were friends, he would go away and forget 
me ; or he would meet with more beautiful women, and fall in love 
with them ; or with flattering and designing women, who would 
want his wealth and rank — 1 care nothing about either, Heaven 
knows, and would love him ju«t as much if he were a simple gen- 
tleman like his cousins of the county. Why, as for love, did he not 
fall in love with you, who would have none of him for religion's 
sake ? Ah !' — here she sighed — ' 'tis well I was not so tempted. 
Religion and all I think I would have thrown away for his dear 
sake. Yet how he should love me after your lovely face, Cousin 
Dorothy, passeth my understanding. Well, as for what is before, I 
know not, but pray for the best, and am thankful that we have had 
three years of happiness, although I have sometimes vexed him with 
my tongue, which at times, alas ! is sharp. Yet he hath never re- 
proached me with this my infirmity, knowing that afterwards I 
still repent and am sorry.' 

She had many admirable qualities, not the least of them being 
that she was wise enough to know how good and great a man was 
her husband. Some women there are who, if a man love them, 
cannot, perhaps for that very reason (knowing how small they are 
compared with him), believe that he can be in any way great. It 
is as much as to say that the man who loves a foolish woman must 
be himself a fool. Such women know not what now I know, and 
am glad to know, because it makes me understand many things ; 
namely, that no man doth love a foolish woman, but rather the 
divine and perfect image of a woman which he pictures to himself, 
instead of the real woman. Not that the Countess was a foolish 
woman at all, but quite the contrary, being, in every respect but 
one, wise and prudent. She checked her husband's profusion 
(which was his only fault) ; she set bounds to his generosity in the 
matter of giving money constantly to his brother Charles, who was 
always wanting more ; she possessed great dignity of carriage, 
although little of stature ; and she was only foolish where all the 
other women of her party are foolish, in thinking that because 
loyalty is a righteous and good thing, the Prince's cause would be 
easily won. Therefore she could not brook the shilly-shally delays 
of the gentlemen, and long before arms were resolved upon was 
impatient. Id this I blamed her not then, nor do I blame her now ; 
because we only believed what we were told to believe, and could 
not know — which we had not been told — the true strength of the 
feeling among all classes as regards a Protestant succession. In 
Northumberland one had at least the advantage of knowing that a 
man may be a Papist, and yet may adorn himself with as many 
personal graces and virtues as any Protestant among us all. Where 
could be found a man of more unblemished life, more universal 
benevolence, greater simplicity, temperance, modesty, and honour 



2o6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

than Lord Derwentwater himself ? Therefore, I say, I blame not 
the Countess for her zeal, though it precipitated the ruin of her 
house. Nay, I was as zealous as herself, and thought the throwing 
down of her fan a fine and courageous action. 

Let me say nothing but what is good of this unhappy woman, 
whose afflictions were greater than she could bear. Why I, who 
never ceased to love Lord Derwentwater, nor ever shall, and am 
not ashamed to own it, have long confessed to myself, that, with 
my rustic ways, I could never have hoped to fix his affections after 
the first strong tide of passion, and to keep them for life as this 
clever quick-witted creature, as changeable in her moods as the sky 
in June, and as sweet to look upon. 

It is now sixteen years since she died, and was buried among the 
English nuns at Louvain ; but her spirit hath returned to England, 
and wanders sadly at night among the woods and ruined gardens at 
Dilston. Alas ! that one born to be so happy should die so 
wretched. 

Enough, for this time, of the talk and thoughts of two fond 
women. We waited thus : I at Blanchland, and the Countess at 
Dilston, with none about her but old men and women-servants, 
from the 6th of October to the 15th of November. 

On the evening of that day (which was Wednesday) I was sitting 
beside the fire, a book in my hand, but my thoughts far away. 
Certain prognostics of the disaster were already in my mind, 
though, as always happens, I thought little of them until later ; 
that is to say, my sleep had been disturbed the night before by 
dreadful and disquieting dreams, but when I awoke in the morning 
there was left nothing but a confused image as of some horrid 
monster. Thus the messenger of Heaven came to warn Nebuchad- 
nezzar, but he forgot in the morning everything, save that a strange 
and terrible dream had come to him. Thus, all day long, strange 
sounds disquieted me. There were omens of bad luck, such as salt- 
spilling, hearing unlucky words early in the morning, and so forth, 
which I afterwards remembered. On Sunday, I had a strange 
roaring sound in my ears (which may have bee a the noise of the 
cannonade at Preston, but I hardly think that possible). On the 
same day, I opened the Bible at haphazard, and lighted on these 
terrifying words in the Book of Psalms, which manifestly referred 
to the overthrow of those who were doing the Lord's work for the 
rightful Sovereign : ' The zeal of thine house hath even eaten me, 
and the rebukes of them that rebuked thee hath fallen upon me.' 
On Monday and Tuesday I was agitated by strange terrors, and on 
Wednesday morning these returned to me in greater force. In the 
evening, the house then being quiet and the maids gone to bed, I 
sat thinking about many things ; and first, as we are all selfish 
creatures, of my hard lot in losing the only man I could ever love, 
and the melancholy lives of women who miss the happiness of 
husband and children ; next of the strange and tragical fate which 
still seemed to pursue the Forsters of Bamborough, so that my 
brother Tom, the last man of the race (not counting poor rustio 



MR. JtiiLYAiiiJ KtLiURNS. 207 

Jack), was now a fugitive and a rebel who would be exiled, or 
worse, should the enterprise fail. Surely, I thought, it was time 
for a change in fortune ; the triumph of the business in hand 
would bring us dignities and rank once more. Next, I remembered 
the grievous illness of Lady Crewe, of the issue of which I had no 
knowledge. Here was food enough for sad thoughts. 

Now, while I sat, I became aware of footsteps outside, and there 
was a gentle knock at the window. I was never greatly afraid of 
robbers and such as break into houses, therefore I hastened to take 
a candle, and presently unlocked the door and looked out. It had 
been snowing all day, and the drifts lay deep in the old quadrangle. 
There was no one in the porch. 

' Who is there?' I cried loudly. 

' Thank Heaven !' replied a voice I knew full well. ' It is Miss 
Dorothy.' 

There stood before me Mr. Hilyard himself. 

1 Who is within,' he asked, ' besides yourself ?' 

I told him no one except the maids, and they were all abed, for it 
was past nine already. 

Still he hesitated, hanging his head, till I bade him sharply shake 
off the snow from his coat and come in. Cold as it was, he had no 
cloak or muffler. He obeyed, and with a trembling hand quickly 
shut and barred the door behind him. 

Then I knew, indeed, that something dreadful had happened, and 
thought of all the forebodings and omens of the last few days. 

He followed me into the kitchen, where there was still a good 
fire burning. Here he threw himself into a chair, and looked at nie 
with white face and quivering lips. 

' Miss Dorothy,' he began, but burst into sobbing and crying. 

' Where is my brother Tom ?' I cried. ' Is he killed ?' 

' No,' he replied. ' No ; he is not dead. Better, perhaps, if he 
had been killed in battle.' 

' Where is my lord ? Is he dead ?' 

' No ; he is not dead.' 

He was so white in the cheeks and trembled so much in every 
limb that I feared he was going to swoon. 

' Are you in want of food ?' I asked him. 

' I had some bread last night,' he said. ' Since then I have eaten 
nothing.' 

' Since Tom and Lord Derwentwater are alive,' I said, ' tell me 
no more till you have eaten.' 

When he had devoured some bread and meat and taken a good 
draught of ale, he stood up and said solemnly a grace after meat. 

' Never yet had I felt till to-day the force of the prayer, " Give 
us this day our daily bread." Alas ! what pangs are endured by 
those who starve ! Save a little bread, finished last night, have I 
tasted nothing since I escaped from Preston on Monday evening.' 

'How? Escaped?' 

' Miss Dorothy ' — his eyes filled with tears — ' alas ! my kind sweet 
mistress, be brave, for the worst hath happened. His honour. 



208 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

General Forster, Lord Derwentwater, Lord Widdrington, all the 
other gentlemen, and the whole of the insurgent army, have surren- 
dered, and are prisoners of General Willes. The Rebellion, unless 
the Scots fare better than the English, is at an end. As for his 
Highness, who hath brought us to this strait, I wish to Heaven he 
were a prisoner as well !' 

' Prisoners '? Tell me more.' 

' I will tell you,' he said, ' from the beginning, that is from last 
Saturday. We were at Preston, and in higher spirits than we had 
been for some time, having received a great accession of the Catholic 
gentlemen of Lancashire, and their followers. I pretend not to 
know what was the General's purpose, but it was understood 
amongst us that we were to march on Saturday morning upon 
Manchester, his honour being assured that none of the enemy were 
within forty miles. You may judge, therefore, of our astonishment 
when we received orders to prepare for action, for General Willes 
was upon us, in what force and whether provided with cannon we 
knew not, so badly were we served by our messengers. And yet I 
am informed by Mr. Patten, who hath had the ear of his honour 
throughout, that he spared neither pains nor cost to be acquainted 
with all the movements of General Carpenter, knowing nothing of 
General Willes, who was marching upon us from Wigan, having 
with him, some say, less than a thousand men, but I know not what 
his numbers may have been. He was so close to the town, that 
when the General rode out beyond the bridge with a party of horse 
he discovered the vanguard of the Dragoons, and had to ride back 
hastily. And then — I know not how. save by some judicial blind- 
ness sent by Heaven — oh ! had I been of the council I There is a 
passage in Livy — but let that pass. Suffice it that the greatest, the 
most fatal mistake was made— oh ! how could it escape them all ?' 

I asked who made the mistake. 

' His honour himself. That is to say, none but the General can 
be praised or blamed for the conduct of a campaign ; but yet I 
know, having heard it for a truth from Mr. Patten, who hath been 
mighty civil to me since we started, that in every operation his 
honour has been first guided and directed by Colonel Oxbrough, 
and then thwarted by gentlemen who shall be nameless. I cannot 
doubt that in the matter of the bridge, he— that is, Colonel Ox- 
brough— was overruled ; nor can I believe that a man who has 
studied campaigns and been on active service could have neglected 
so simple an advantage. Know then, Miss Dorothy, that before 
the town there runs a deep river which must be forded ; over the 
river a bridge ; and this side the bridge a deep and narrow lane : k 
is like the Pass of Thermopylae ; it may be defended by a hundred 
men against an army — nay, by means of this pass we might have 
destroyed all the force that General Willes had been able to bring 
against us. Yet we neglected to defend this bridge. Some say the 
Brigadier Macintosh refused to obey the General ; I know not if it 
be true ; certainly there is no love between the Scotch and the 
English officers. It matters not by whose fault ; the bridge waar 



MR. HiLYARD RETURNS. 209 

left undefended, and the enemy crossed over at their ease, and so 
came up to the town and prepared for an attack.' 

He stopped and sighed. 

'I never thought,' he went on, 'that I, a plain Oxford scholar, a 
man of peace, and of obscure birth, should take ray part in a battle, 
fighting among gentlemen ; nor did I look to feel the madness of 
Mars in my blood. Yet this day shall I never forget, nor the " joy 
of battle " spoken of by Homer, and now understood by me. We 
formed four chief barricadoes, or barriers, behind which we received 
the enemy. As for me, I had the honour to be placed among the 
gentlemen volunteers who defended the barrier below the church, 
under Brigadier Macintosh. We were commanded by the Lords 
Derwentwater, Kenmure, Wintoun, and Nithsdale. As for my lord 
and his brother, Mr. Charles, I dare maintain that they set an 
example to all of us of courage and coolness under fire, being 
stripped to the waistcoat, and encouraging the men to work at the 
barriers and to give a warm reception to the enemy. A warm re- 
ception we gave them, indeed, and killed, I believe, as many as 120 
of them at the first attack. The battle lasted from three o'clock in 
the afternoon till long into the night. Twice I saw the General — 
Mr. Tom, I mean— riding up to the barricado, encouraging us to 
staud firm and fire with precision, freely exposing himself to the 
enemy's fire. When the night fell the enemy set fire to two or 
three houses, partly with the design to burn down the whole town, 
and partly to terrify and dislodge us, and had there been the least 
wind, no doubt their horrid project had succeeded. At midnight 
the enemy withdrew, leaving 300 and more dead upon the field, 
while we for our part had lost but 17 killed and about 40 wounded. 
As for me, I had never a scratch. Yet, in spite of this signal ad- 
vantage, and the joy of our men, you shall hear how we were all 
presently undone.' 

He stopped and fetched another sigh. 

' Undone, did I say ? Yea ; ruined and lost beyond hope. Yet 
we were 3,000 strong, and fellows as stout as a general would wish 
to command. 

' All that night the houses blazed and fell, one by one, with a 
most dreadful roaring of flames, and I think that few of us got 
much sleep. For my own part I sat, firelock in hand, behind our 
barrier, wishing that the morning would come, and longing to be at 
'em again. This I say not with boastfulness, but to show how 
quickly even a man of peace may become a man of war. Yet is the 
man of peace a madman thus to follow the drum. It hath been 
truly said by Seneca in his book ' 

' Never mind Seneca, Mr. Hilyard. For Heaven's sake go on 
with the story. What happened next ?' 

' Since you know that we were all taken prisoners, you know, 
Miss Dorothy, pretty nearly as much as I know myself. For, of a 
truth, I cannot tell with certainty why we laid down our arms. We 
took a few prisoners, and from one of them, an officer, I learned the 
strength of the enemy, and that General Carpenter was marching 

14 ^ 



no DOROTHY FORSTER. 

upon as, having with him three regiment* of Dragoons. But still 
we should greatly outnumber them. "Gentlemen," cried one of 
the prisoners, as he was led through our ranks, "lam your prisoner 
to-day, but you will all be ours to-morrow." At which some of us 
laughed, but I, thinking how the bridge had been neglected, began 
to consider seriously what this might mean. I say again that I 
blame not his honour. Neither as man nor boy hath he iver cared 
for things military, to study the conduct of a siege nor the history 
of a campaign. But I marvel that Colonel Oxbrough, who should 
have known better, or that Lord Widdrington, who should have 
been made to hold his tongue, or that Brigadier Macintosh — but, 
indeed, there is small profit in wondering. 

' Now, in the morning, when we expected, although it was Sun- 
day, that the enemy would either attack us again, or that we should 
sally forth and attack them, which would have been more to our 
humour and the purpose, the blood of the men being up, and every- 
body in good spirits at the yesterday's fighting and heavy losses we 
had inflicted upon the enemy, no orders came, and we continued at 
our posts all that morning. There was some firing upon us, but 
not much, from two or three houses occupied by the enemy. I 
think it must have been ten of the clock that a rumour began among 
us that General Carpenter had arrived, and that the town was in- 
vested, and we entirely surrounded. At first that seemed to matter 
little, because we had beaten them once, and could beat them again 
were they twice as strong. Xext it was whispered that we were 
short of powder as well as provisions. T\*hat kind of officers are 
those who lead their men into a fight with no more ammunition 
than is enough for a single day's fighting, and no more provisions 
than from day to day can be gathered on the march ? Xow when 
I understood this I began to tremble indeed, because it became 
quite plain to me that we must now either surrender (though nearly 
three to one, and full of heart), or fight our way out with bayonet, pike, 
and sword against musket and cannon. I confess, moreover, that I 
was tempted to follow the example of some of our men, who, on 
the first suspicion of this desperate position of affairs, scoured off, 
and made good their escape by a way where as yet none of the 
Dragoons were posted. It was by a street called Fi;hergate, which 
leads to a meadow beside the river, where are two good fords. I 
know not how many got away, but by one way or another, hiding 
in the houses and escaping by night, there must have been more 
than a thousand, because sure I am that not half of those who were 
with us the day before the fight were those who laid down their 
arms the day after. A happy escape to them ! As for those who 
ire taken, what can they look for ? Courage, Miss Dorothy ! there 
is time, and something may yet be done. We must notdespair. 
First, there is open always to poor mortals in their worst extremity 
their appeal to Heaven ; it is not fortune alone which destroys 
armies. Next, it must be admitted a noble madness at the worst, 
which compellod so many gentlemen to go forth on this forlorn 
hope, so that their epeedy oisoomfiture ought to be a punishment 



MR. HILYARD RETURNS. 211 

snfficient nnto them. Besides, there is the famous passage of 
Boethius ' 

' Oh ! Mr. Hilyard, let us not look to Boethius for help. Tell 
me all, and then let us think what remains to be done.' 

' Alas ! little is left to tell, and that is bad. On Sunday morning 
there was held a council, of which I have heard the substance, 
though, of course, I was not present. When the time shall come 
when scholars shall be consulted on every subject, as the oracles 
were consulted of old, there will be a school or college of scholars 
whose sole.business it shall be to advise Ministers, contrive measures, 
be consulted by Generals, and lay down plans for the general good 
of the nation. Happy would it have been — I say it not boastfully, 
but with sorrow — for us all had our commander sought the counsel 
of the only scholar who was with them. But they knew not — they 
know not, and do not in their ignorance suspect— that a man who 
hath read Tacitus, Livy, and Thucydides, to say nothing of Ccesar 
his Commentaries, Sallust his history, the great military writer 
Vegetius (in the Leyden edition), and the late campaigns, with such 
help as was within his reach, of the illustrious Marlborough, a 
greater than Hannibal, could lead their army better than all of 
them put together. No ammunition, no powder, no provisions ; 
not a map of the country ; no spies — and that bridge left unde- 
fended ! Why, I should have sallied forth to meet the enemy, and 
struck a blow, before that bridge was abandoned, as would have 
rung through all England ; General Carpenter's turn should have 
followed next ; and then — then — unless the City of London de- 
clared for the Prince I should ' 

He stopped, gasping, carried away with the imaginary glory of 
the campaign directed by himself. 

' What would you have done then, Mr. Hilyard ?' 

' I should have dictated terms to King George, and in return for 
disbanding my forces and sending all home again, I wovUl have left 
him on the throne and accepted a general amnesty.' 

' What, and desert the Prince ?' 

' Nothing is of any lasting help for the Prince,' he said, ' until he 
hath first turned Protestant. Although they did not consult me, 
however, I learned that the council was divided, and no agreement 
possible ; for some thought that, considering our number, which 
was still greater than that of the enemy, it would be shameful to 
surrender without another fight, while others thought that enough 
blood had been shed, and that terms had better be made — such 
terms as could be obtained. If there was neither ammunition nor 
provision, how could a sally be attempted, to say nothing of an 
escape ? And how could we sit down to be starred ? Then the 
town was invested : we were all caught like rats in a trap ; if we 
attempted to fight our way out, we should be shot down as we ran ; 
with other arguments which savoured as much of cowardice as of 
prudence. His honour, who presided, listened to all, and looked 
from one to the other to ask his opinion. The Earl of Derwent- 
water, with las brother and the Highland officers, were hot for 3 



2 1 2 DORO TH Y FORS TER. 

sally, and for fighting the way out with sword and bayonet when 
all the powder was gone. " What !" they cried, " are we to abandon 
the enterprise because we are merely threatened ? We are invested 
— that is true ; we have little powder— that is true ; let us reserve 
all we have to protect the rear, and cut our way in the darkness 
through them." Lord Widdrington, for his part, was strong for 
capitulation ; the rising, he said, was hopeless ; the English gentle- 
men held aloof, or were hostile ; the Earl of Carlisle, Lord Lumley, 
and a great many gentlemen of the north were with General Car- 
penter ; they had been deceived with promises of support, not only 
from men who at the moment of action refused to come out, but 
also from the messengers who came and went between London and 
the north — here he looked at Colonel Oxbrough. Things were bad, 
but they might be made worse ; the business of the Prince could 
not be advanced by the carnage of his followers ; wherefore he was 
for a capitulation on honourable terms. Then Lord Derwentwater 
spoke again. He said that he partly agreed with Lord Widdring- 
ton ; their affairs were hopeless ; divided counsels, as well as mis- 
representation, had brought them to this pass ; yet he, for one, 
could not think they should capitulate while they still had their 
swords left. His vote, therefore, was again for cutting a way 
through. Finally, all looked to Colonel Oxbrough, who, in hi9 
calm and quiet way, said that as regards misrepresentation, he knew 
of none, all the business of the Prince being carried on faithfully, 
as is proper among gentlemen ; that he had himself been a mes- 
senger, and proved his own loyalty by casting in his lot with them ; 
that, as to the failure in the south and west, and the silence as re- 
gards Leland, he knew no more than anyone present ; but, as to 
the present juncture, he was a soldier, and knew how to obey, 
though against his own judgment ; therefore, whatever the opinion 
of the council, he was ready to obey again, whether it should bo 
decided to fight or to capitulate. If to fight, many would doubtless 
meet with the death of a soldier ; if to surrender, some would pro- 
bably be hanged, some beheaded, and some pardoned, and their 
estates confiscated. " But," he added, " those who die will die for 
the King, and those who are ruined will be ruined for his sake." 

' Outside, and among us of the rank and file, there was now 
(seeing that the way of escape by Fishergate Street was at last 
closed by the Dragoons) only one feeling — namely, that we should 
fight our way out ; and hard things were said of our leaders, who 
had got us into this trap, out of which there was no escape, although 
so many roads, so that we were like crabs and lobsters in their 
wicker-work cages, whereinto they can creep with ease, but cannot 
get out again. Nevertheless, despair and determination would have 
made a way, I doubt not, for who would not fight if it were certain 
death to remain and probable death to advance ? I know not what 
may be the clemency of King George, on which they now build so 
many hopes, but kings do not use to be merciful towards rebels. 
However, we were all resolved to fight, and when at length Colonel Ox- 
brough was sent to treat of surrender, the c-mmon soldiers were told, 



MR. HILYARD RETURNS. 213 

to keep them quiet, that General Willes had offered honourable termi 
if we would lay down our arms. The terms which he brought back 
were, indeed, nothing but what we had a right to expect — namely, that 
we were to surrender at discretion. This, one must own, was choking 
to us all, after a victory such as ours. The Colonel brought back this 
reply, and a second message was sent by Captain Dalzell begging 
for time, which was granted — namely, until seven o'clock on Mon- 
day morning, provided that no more entrenchments were thrown 
up and that hostages were sent. It was with a heavy heart, indeed, 
that I saw my Lord Derwentwater, with grave and serious counte- 
nance, ride forth with Colonel Macintosh, as our hostages. For I 
understood very well that this was but the beginning of the end, 
and that our vaunted rising, which was to have been followed by 
the general voice of the whole nation, had come to a sudden and 
shameful end. I could not but think of all that this brave young 
gentleman staked upon the issue of the enterprise • his vast estates, 
his rank and dignity — even his life : for, though the clemency of 
the King be extended to all else, can it ever include the Prince's 
cousin, his playfellow, and his most intimate friend ? Alas ! I f ear 
that noontide sun of splendour is veiled and eclipsed already ! It 
is reported that when Lord Derwentwater entered the General's 
tent, he sat down and said, with a sigh, that he would rather trust 
himself to the clemency of King George than return to an army 
where there was neither wisdom, agreement, obedience, nor honesty 
(thinking of the mischievous jealousies between Englishman and 
Scot). For clemency, we know not ; the smaller folk may hope, 
but for my lord, I dare prophesy that he will smile no more upon 
this earth. And as for the rest of his days, they will be few indeed 
and full of sorrow. I know not in what reflections my comrades 
passed Sunday night ; but for myself, I meditated continually on 
the nearness of death, seeing nothing but probable destruction 
whichever way was chosen. Why, I asked myself, did I make or 
meddle with the matter ? For, though bound in duty to follow his 
honour did he order it, I was not bound to volunteer my life in the 
cause. Again, I said to myself, though I hoped to show gratitude 
by being of service, I should have known that as a common soldier 
I could have no say in the council — not even private intercourse 
with the General. Perhaps there were others such as myself ; 
though most seemed insensible to danger, and lay sleeping like logs 
all the night, and in the morning would have gone forth to fight as 
cheerfully as to play a bout at quarterstaff. Truly I think that 
most of our vaunted courage doth proceed from insensibility and 
lack of imagination, so that the brave soldier who marches straight 
to the cannon's mouth does so because he cannot think, or picture 
the future, and would draw back and flinch if he could foresee the 
agony of his wound and the dreadful pain in which he must die. 
However this may be, when it became known in the morning that, 
after all, we were to surrender, and that after what had seemed to 
be a most glorious and successful action, in which they lost ten 
times as many men as we, and had at last to retire, the rage and 



214 DOROTHY FORS TER. 

disappointment of the men were terrible to witness. Tbey ran 
about the streets, calling upon each other to sally forth and force a 
way out. Had they been led in this attempt, I am very certain that 
we should have got away, though with heavy loss, and perhaps have 
gotten in the end much advantage to the cause. But our officers 
were too tender for us (if not for themselves), therefore we must 
needs be hanged, as will doubtless happen to most, or sent to the 
Plantations, or die of gaol-fever — though with regard to his honour, 
Miss Dorothy, we must hope for better things. The unfortunate 
Mr. Patten, poor wretch, will have but short shrift, I fear. I love 
not the man, yet I confess that his courage in coming out with us, 
his bravery in the action, and his present constancy under misfor- 
tune, have caused me to forgive the past. 

' The soldiers ran, I say, this way and that, distracted, and with- 
out a leader, for the officers and gentlemen, even those who were 
loudest to sally forth, kept within, and ventured not out to meet 
that roaring, maddened mob. One there was among us who ven- 
tured to use the word " surrender." Him they shot. As for me, 
having designs of my own, I bellowed with the rest, and so kept a 
whole skin. 

' Miss Dorothy,' he interrupted himself, crying out as if violently 
moved, ' I maintain and declare that the whole business was con- 
ducted so feebly from the very beginning, when they refused to 
enlist the men who volunteered, to the end, when they would not 
even keep the bridge or sally forth and attack the enemy, whom we 
outnumbered by three to one, that his honour the General was right 
to bring it to a close. Yes, we might have made a sortie ; there 
were still a few rounds of powder left ; we might (some of us) have 
escaped, and the lives lost would have been counted by hundreds ; 
and afterwards what would have been our lot, but wandering among 
■the mountains and starving on the moors, with death for those taken 
prisoner, and few indeed winning their way to the Scottish army ? 
Whereas, now, the Government may show themselves merciful. 
One knows not, to be sure, the fate of Lord Mar ; if he be success- 
ful for a time — for he cannot, I am sure, in the long run — our 
prisoners may meet with leniency ; if Lord Mar be already defeated, 
which much I fear, then the fate of the prisoners may be hard. 
Let us not forget that their leaders gave themselves up, in the hope 
that the common sort might escape unharmed and free.' 

It was Tom's good heart and compassionate nature made him 
listen to the counsels of Lord Widdrington. He gave up himself 
and his friends to save the poor fellows who had followed them ; 
there was to be no unnecessary bloodshed. I know now that this 
is not the way in which campaigns should be conducted. Does a 
Marlborough when he meditates a Blenheim think with pity of the 
soldiers who will die in carrying out his plans ? Tom was not a 
Marlborough, nor ought he to have been a general. Yet as for liis 
courage, that was abundantly proved ; as for his honesty, that was 
never doubted ; as for bis military genius, we must look for it in 
the plans proposed by Colonel Oxbronjrh, and if we find it not in 



MR. HILYARD RETURNS. 215 

the history of the campaign, we must remember that discord pre- 
vailed in every council, where every man regarded himself as equal 
to the General-in- Chief. The leaders, when there was no hope but 
in a great carnage, gave themselves up to save the rest. It was 
nobly done by them. As for King George's clemency, we must 
look to the heads on Temple Bar, the scaffolds on Tower Hill, the 
shootings and hangings at Liverpool, Warrington, a,nd Preston ; 
the deaths in prison, the confiscated estates, and the long lines of 
wretches put on board the ships at Liverpool, and sent out to work 
for the rest of their days, torn from their homes, in the Plantations 
of Virginia and Jamaica. 

Mr. Hilyard went on to finish his narrative. 

' In the midst of the confusion, one Mr. Alexander Murray 
Lieutenant in Strathmore's Regiment, being a hot-headed youth, 
and full of indignation against the surrender, made his way to 
General Forster's quarters, where his honour sat, in melancholy 
mood, as may be imagined, and with him one or two gentlemen, 
and Mr. Patten, his chaplain. Mr. Murray carried in his hand a 
pistol, which no one had noticed until he burst into their midst, 
and crying " Traitor !" levelled it at Mr. Forster's head, and would 
most certainly have killed him, but that Mr. Patten struck up the 
pistol, and the shot went into the ceiling. 

' Quite early in the morning, almost before daylight, the Dragoons 
rode in. A trumpet was blown, and, all being presently drawn up 
in the market-place, the men were told to lay down their arms, 
which they did with very rueful faces, and only because they had 
no more ammunition, and there was no one to lead them. Thus 
ended our great and glorious Rebellion. I have left at Preston near 
500 English gentlemen and f ollowers and soldiers (where are all the 
rest — those who promised, but came not ; and those who came, but 
ran away?), and 1,000 Scots, of whom 150 are noblemen and gen- 
tlemen (but at least 1,000 must have got away, or gone away, before 
the fighting began). What they will do with all I know not. My 
greatest hope is that, seeing they have so many in the net, they may 
pardon all ; but my greatest fear is that, seeing they have both small 
and great, they may punish all the great while they suffer the small 
to go free.' 

' Then, how is it,' I asked, ' that you, too, are not a prisoner ?' 

He laughed, and took another draught of the October. 

' When I perceived,' he said, ' how things were likely to go, I 
reflected that a free man is certainly more useful than a prisoner ; 
and that, if I could be of any service to his honour (as the mouse 
was once of service to the lion), it could only be if I was free. 
Wherefore, I cast about in my mind for a way of escape. Happily, 
I remembered that the man in whose house I was billeted, an 
apothecary by trade, had already professed some kind of friendship 
for me because of certain recipes, secrets, and ancient mixtures, 
which, out of my reading in Celsus, and other learned authors, I 
had been able to impart to him. Therefore, before the proclama- 
tion for all to repair to the market-pkoe was issued, I had already 



2i6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

awakened my friend from sleep, and communicated to him my 
plan. It was nothing more than this, that, having first shaved my 
head and chin (one of the marks of our men being a bristly chin), 
he should give me an old second-hand full-bottomed wig, such as is 
worn by those apothecaries who wish to pass for learned physicians, 
and a blue apron, and should put me behind his own counter. This 
obliging man, for whom I will most certainly transcribe the Roman 
cure for podagra as soon as (if ever) I reach home — that is, the 
Manor House — again, most generously gave me all 1 wanted. Nota 
bene, he is a bachelor, which made the thing easier, there being no 
woman in his house to pry and talk, except a deaf old crone. I, 
therefore, became for the day his apprentice, assistant, or journey- 
man, serving drugs, mixing medicines, and preparing lotions, emetics, 
plaisters, and other things for the sick men and wounded. You may 
think that all this time I kept my face so screwed up, that no one, 
even of our own men (but they were under ward) should know me. 
Another service the apothecary did for me. Lord Widdrington w.\s 
ill with the gout ; my (supposed) master had to prescribe for him. 
This would give him, I thought, the chance of speaking a word to 
his honour. 

' The good man told me that he found his honour at the Mitre 
Tavern, where were also all the lords and some other of the gentle- 
men, the whole company greatly cast down ; that, after giving 
Lord Widdrington his medicine, he whispered in Mr. Forster's ear 
(but there were no sentinels in the room to watch or guard the 
prisoners) that I was in his house, safely bestowed and disguised 
for the present, and designed to escape on the first opportunity, and 
that I desired to know if I could be of service to him. To this 
Mr. Forster replied that he knew not what could be done. " But," 
he said, " bid Mr. Hilyard, as soon as he safely may, go to Lady 
Crewe, and inform her exactly of all the circumstances. And tell 
him to'take care of Mistress Dorothy, my sister." ' 

Thus in the hour of his greatest humiliation did my brother find 
a kind thought for me. 

' When the night fell,' Mr. Hilyard went on, ' I made haste to 
depart, all the more quickly because my benefactor, the apothecary, 
began to be uneasy lest any of the townsfolk should accuse him of 
harbouring a rebel. By this time the search in the houses was 
over, and the streets swept clear of our unlucky insurgents, who 
were all under lock and key, except those fortunate enough to get 
off, like myself. As for the Highlanders and common soldiers, they 
were all clapped into the parish church. But because the Dragoons 
were riding up and down stopping and questioning all passenger-, 
I filled a basket with some bottles of physic, and put a little biscuit 
into my pocket. Thus prepared, and with my apron still tied round 
me, I sallied forth. Now all the roads were blocked with patrols, 
but I knew a way, could I reach it, where a lane led to a meadow, 
and beyond the meadow was a ford over the river, and beyond the 
ford open fields. The night was dark, with sleet and rain, which 
helped me to pass unpo'ceived, though in a great quaking, for. 



MR. HILYARD RETURNS. 217 

believe me, I had no great confidence in my apron should I be 
questioned. In a word, I got in safety to my lane, ran across the 
meadow, and through the river, up to the middle in the freezing 
water, and so into the open country. All that night I walked or 
ran, and towards morning found a barn, where I lay on soft straw, 
and slept the day through. And so I made my way here, and am 
once more, Miss Dorothy, if I be not taken prisoner, hopeful to 
serve you again.' 

This was the story which Mr. Hilyard brought to me. "When I 
had heard it throughout I sat awhile as one who is stunned with a 
blow upon the head, saying nothing, while Mr. Hilyard began to 
comfort me and himself with illustrations, taken from sacred and 
ancient history, of misfortunes and reverses to kings and princes, 
instancing Crassus, Croesus, Polyeuctes, Cato, Brutus, Cassius, Han- 
nibal, and many other notable cases, in which fortune proved fickle. 
Alas ! what did the violent death of Cato signify to me, who was 
in terror for a brother ? Presently he ceased talking, and his eyes 
closed. He was asleep. This did not show want of feeling, for I 
remembered that the poor man had been walking for two nights, 
and was tired out. 

I left him sleeping, and went to my own room, where I lay awake 
all night, thinking what should be done. To all my thinking there 
came but one gleam of hope. There was the King's clemency. 
Had I known or suspected the vengeance that would be wreaked 
upon these unfortunate prisoners there would have been no hope 
left at all. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

TO LONDON. 

' It is certain,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that the lords and the chiefs will 
be taken to London, there to be tried for high treason. I heard that 
it was already decided from two King's officers, who came to the 
shop for a plaister on Monday afternoon.' 

This made me think that, if one were to help Tom, it must be in 
London, and I presently resolved that somehow I would get me 
thither. To be sure, it was a great journey for a woman to under- 
take, and that in winter. Eut it must be done. Mr. Hilyard was 
going to Stene. I would go with him so far ; after that by myself, 
if necessary, or under such charge as Lady Crewe would assign to 
me, and to such a house as she would recommend to me. On this I 
quickly resolved, and was determined. As for Lord Crewe's help, 
on that I built little, because it needed not a politician to perceive 
that one of his lordship's history and known opinions would have 
small interest in a Whig Court. Yet when a man is so highly placed 
he must have friends, cousins, and old acquaintances on both sides. 
4 Add to this,' said Mr. Hilyard, * that to-day my turn ; to-morrow 
yours ! The great Whig Lords are not too certain of their seats.' 
When, however, I told Mr. Hilyard that I was resolved to go, I 
d the greatest trouble with him. For, first, he maintained stiffly 



218 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

that it would be impossible to take me with him on account of Iho 
weather, it being already the middle of November, the days growing 
short, and the roads so heavy that no one could expect the coach or 
any waggons would run. Moreover, there had already fallen so 
great a depth of snow as I have never seen since, insomuch that 
Hexham Moor was four or five feet deep in it, and in the drifts 
much deeper. No one, he said, ought to travel in such weather but 
those who are young, strong, and fear not the cold. I replied that 
I was both strong and young, and fearless of cold. Next, as to other 
dangers, he was himself well known in these parts as having been 
in the service of Mr. Forster, both the elder and the younger, for 
fifteen years ; during that time having met with many people and 
made many acquaintances. It also was very well known that he 
went out with his patron. This being so, what if he were arrested 
and imprisoned, and I left alone on the road? I replied that such 
a thing would be most dreadful, and must therefore be guarded 
against by some disguise, the nature of which I would leave to his 
invention. ' Why,' he said, smiling, ' as to that, I doubt not that I 
could dress up so as to defy them all ; but there is also yourself. 
Will it be wise, think you, men's minds being in a tumult, to pro- 
claim aloud that Miss Dorothy Forster, sister of General Forster, is 
going to London in order to get off her brother, if she can in any 
way prevail ? There must be disguise for you, as well as for me, if 
you will go.' 

' Indeed I shall go,' I replied ; ' nothing else will content me. 
And I trust to you to bring me safe to town ; disguise me as you 
will. Why, Mr. Hilyard, who is there to work for Tom but myself ?' 

' There is Lady Crewe,' he said. ' And, truly, I know not what 
you could do in London.' 

' Yes, Mr. Hilyard ; by your leave I could be doing something. 
I could see Tom, and do what is told me. Surely he has friends in 
London.' 

' Surely he has ; but I fear that they are all on the wrong side, 
like Lady Crewe herself. Have you no cousins among the Whigs ?' 

Cousins I had, plenty as blackberries, but all were honest Tories. 
Stay, there was one ; but I had never seen her. She was Mary 
Clavering, who made a great match, and married Lord Cowper. 

' Lord Cowper ? Lord Cowper ?' cried Mr. Hilyard. ' Why, ho 
is Lord Chancellor. If Lady Cowper is your cousin, the business is 
as good as done. But yet, I know not. She cannot ask for many ; 
and there is Mr. Clavering of Callalee a prisoner. Still, there is one 
friend at Court for us. If he only had the money (but perhaps his 
honour's friends in London will find that) to grease a few palms, I 
should not despair. Miss Dorothy, if you are brave, and feel strong 
enough, come to London with me, in the name of God.' 

Then he began to plan disguises ; and first he thought he wouM 
become a clergyman, and I his daughter — then ho walked about, 
puffing his cheeks and smacking his protruded lips, like one of those 
reverend gentlemen who think too much of the fleshpots and tho 
flask. (While thus acting, he looked for all the world as if he wore 



TO LONDON. 21$ 

a cassock.) But that plan pleased him not, on consideration, be- 
cause he remembered that it is a long way to London, that accidents 
might happen on the road, and he be called upon to read the service 
appointed for the sick, to console and fortify the dying, even to 
administer the Holy Sacrament, which would be a most dreadful 
and unpardonable sin ; and yet, if he refused, he must needs confess 
the cheat, and so be haled to prison, or whipped out of the town as 
a rogue, and very likely I with him. No ; that would not do. 
Then he thought that he would be a physician, and his face became 
long, and he carried his nose in the air, and one seemed to perceive 
the smell of drugs, as is generally the case with these gentry. 

1 Why,' he said, 'truly, I am already somewhat skilled in medicine, 
having once, when young, read for curiosity the works of Celsus, 
Galen, and Avicenna, and could easily pass for a physician until I 
fell in with a brother of the mystery, when, for lack of the current 
coin of speech and the jargon of the trade, every craft having its 
own manner of speech, I should certainly be discovered.' 

Then he laughed, for a new idea occurred to him, and he begged 
me to excuse him for a few minutes. So he left the room. Presently 
a step outside and a knock at the door. Wonderful is the power of 
a mime ! It is needless to say that I knew Mr. Hilyard under his 
disguise, but I also knew, which is much more to the point, for 
whom he wished to be taken. There is in the village of Bamborough 
an honest blacksmith named John Purdy, of as old a family as our 
own, because if we have been Forsters of Etherston from time im- 
memorial, the Purdys have been village blacksmiths for as long (one 
of them joined the insurgents at Kendal for no other reason than 
because Mr. Tom was the General, and afterwards for his trouble 
got sent to Virginia, where he presently was set free, and is now 
doing well). John Purdy was a man of forty, short and square 
built, who went lame by reason of an accident in his 'prentice days. 
He wore a handkerchief tied round his head, and over that a great 
flapping hat, and in his hand always a stout ashen staff. Such as 
he was, so was Mr. Hilyard — a simple tradesman, honest to look at, 
and not ashamed of himself, knowing his duty to his betters. Why, 
Mr. Hilyard looked almost too much of a village blacksmith. He 
had no occasion to carry a hammer ; there was across his face a 
grimy stain of oil or grease ; his hands were rusty with iron stains ; 
his flapping hat was over the red handkerchief ; his neck was wrapped 
in wool. 

' Will this do, Miss Dorothy ?' he asked with pride ; and as he 
spoke his face became square like the face of John Purdy, his mouth 
set firm, and his nose long and straight. ' Will this do ? I am now 
a North-country blacksmith ; I am going to Durham to seek for 
work with my sister, who is a handy girl, knows her place, and is 
respectful to her betters. At Durham we shall be going to Newcastle, 
at Newcastle to York, and at York to London. It is a truly admirable 
disguise. I am safe, unless they ask me to make a horseshoe.' 

His spirit, which had been desponding, rallied again at the 
prospect of riding to London and play-acting all the ww. 



aao DOROTHY FORSTER. 

I asked him when tho prisoners might be expected to arrive in 
London. 

' Justice,' he said, ' is not only blind, but lame. That is why she 
goeth so slowly. But I see no reason why the prisoners should be 
kept at Preston. They will ride by easy stages, perhaps ten or 
twelve miles a day ; and it is three hundred miles or so. If I were 
his honour or Lord Derwentwater, I would try whether a clean pair 
of heels would not be more to the purpose than Court influence.' 

' But suppose they are too well guarded.' 

He laughed. 

'You cannot,' he said, 'guard a man who resolves to escape, and 
hath the wit. Oh Lord ! everything is possible to him who hath 
the wit.' 

' Then, Mr. Hilyard, why have not you become a rich man ?' 

He might have replied that it was partly out of his fidelity to me 
pnd to mine ; otherwise, had so ingenious a gentleman gone to 
London, he must, surely, have acquired great fame and riches. 

We set off on our journey the next morning, in a terrible gale of 
wind and snow, through which nothing could have kept me up but 
a terror worse than that of a driving wind across a bleak moor. I 
had with me in my pocket all the money that I could find, amount- 
ing in all to no more than twenty-four guineas. I also tied up, in 
as small a parcel as I could make it, some of my fine things which I 
might want in London. These Mr. Hilyard made into a pack. He 
was dressed in a long brown coat of frieze, with long sleeves, which 
covered his hands as well as gloves might have done, and was, 
besides, muffled up about the neck and chin, so that certainly no 
one, with his flapping hat and his limp, would have recognised him. 
As for me, I was dressed like any plain village girl, with a hood and 
thick flannel petticoats. We were to ride the same horse (but that 
a good stout nag, easily able to carry both), I on pillion behind Mr. 
Hilyard ; but the way was so bad, and the snow so deep, that I do 
not think the poor man rode fifty miles out of all the way between 
Blanchland and London. Often we both walked, one each side the 
poor creature, who picked his way slowly in the deep snow, and sank 
sometimes up to the girth. 

' If we may believe in the intervention of Heaven,' said Mr. 
Hilyard, ' we might own that the wrath of the Lord is poured out 
upon us for our Rebellion against the Protestant Succession, in 
snow and sleet, storm and rain ?' 

'And yet,' I replied, 'there be many thousands in England who 
have not joined in the Rebellion : and for them, too, are the storm 
and snow.' 

' Yes ; and David alone counted the people, yet the people 
perished.' 

Every day, and all day long, Sundays included, we continued our 
journey in such a winter as I hope never to see again. On the road 
we were in little danger : footpads would not attack a pair of poor 
country people : no one was likely to recognise either of us : the 
danger and the inconvenience were in the evening, when we had to 



TO LONDON. 221 

find the rudest lodgings, avoiding the inns, unless we were compelled 
to go to them ; and then Mr. Hilyard would be in terror lest some 
one should offer a rudeness to me, whereby he would have to fight 
and create a disturbance, and be taken before a justice ; and I in 
terror lest he should be carried away by his vanity, and begin to 
sing and to show his gifts and parts. But neither of these things 
happened. For myself, as soon as I had a bed, or a part of a bed, 
given to me (which was always among the maids and servants, as 
suited my pretended condition), I would go there and sit down, and 
to bed early, while the rest, men and women together, sat round the 
fire, my blacksmith being thought a surly fellow, who spoke little, 
though he was willing to drink with any who offered. 

Once the night fell before we found a resting-house, and we lost 
our way. Then, indeed, my brave companion and trusty friend, 
who had kept me in heart by his own courage, seemed to lose his 
courage suddenly. 

' Alas !' he said, when I reproved him gently, ' I know of dangers 
whereof you know nothing. We are now warm and not yet hungry, 
but we shall presently become chilled with the terrible wind, and 
we shall grow hungry, and we shall yawn and feel a desire to fall 
asleep. But, mark you, if we fall asleep we shall die. Wherefore, 
if you see me growing sleepy or heavy, prick me sharply with a 
pin ; and if you so much as yawn, think it not strange if I shake 
you by the shoulders. It is related in Olaus Magnus how a company 
of sailors, going a-fishing about the North Cape (where live the 
little Lapps, and there are terrible sorcerers and magicians), were 
overtaken by a storm of wind and snow, and so lost their way, and 
presently fell a-y awning and so all to sleep save one, who kept him- 
self awake with deep stabs and cuts of a knife, causing sore pains ; 
so that if his eyelids fell, for mere smart he was sure to open them 
again — and so was at last picked up and recovered. But his com- 
panions sleep still, where they lie covered with snow and ice, and 
so will lie till the Day of Judgment. Miss Dorothy, 'tis an awful 
tale ! Prick me sharply, I pray you, if I so much as offer to yawn.' 

The wind blew too cold in our faces for me, at least, to feel 
sleepy, or to think of yawning. But it was late, and the road grew 
worse, and I knew not whither we might be going. 

The poor tired nag was stumbling now, and both of us at his 
head. There seemed no vestige of a road. The landscape on either 
hand, for it was a champaign country, lay stretched out white, 
covered with snow. The clouds had cleared away, and the moon 
was out ; but not a barn, or a farmhouse, or a cottage in which we 
could seek for so much as a shelter in the straw. We plodded on, 
the horse lifting his feet with difficulty, and Mr. Hilyard, now in a 
kind of despair, begging me from time to time not to yawn, and to 
have a long pin ready. 

Suddenly we saw before ua a light, or lights. 

'Is it a Will-o'-the-wisp ?' I said. ' Or it may be a fairy light. 
Sure nothing human could be out on such a night, except our- 
selves.' 



S22 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' I know not what it is,' he said ; ' but I have two loaded pistols 
in the holsters, and, by your leave, I will have them in readiness : 
and there is also my cudgel, but I hope I shall not have to use -it. 
Miss Dorothy, forgive me for letting you come with me on this 
wild-goose chase. I have lost my patron, who will most surely be 
hanged, and drawn, and quartered ; and now I have lost my mistress 
too. Robbed and murdered shall we surely be ; but not you, believe 
me — not before they have first killed me.' 

He was cold and faint for want of food, which made him afraid ; 
but yet he was resolved to sell our lives dear. We cautiously ad- 
vanced in the direction of the lights, which were not flickering, 
like goblin fires, but steady. I walked beside him, leading the horse. 
When, presently, we came to the spot, we discovered that the lights 
came from three or four great covered carts, such as gipsies use. 
Mr. Hilyard shouted aloud for joy. 

' We are safe now,' he said ; ' these people are true Romany.' 

It is truly wonderful to relate that these outcasts, whom the 
world regards with so much scorn, who have no knowledge at all of 
religion, duty, or morals, who live by pilfering and plundering, 
who, when caught loitering in a town, are whipped and clapped in 
the stocks, received us with the greatest kindness as soon as they 
discovered that Mr. Hilyard could talk to them in their own lan- 
guage. 

The women took off my cold and wet stockings and shoes, bathed 
my feet in hot water, brought me a pannikin of hot broth made 
with I know not what meats, but comforting ; and then, because I 
was no longer able to hold up my head, they made me a bed of 
blankets on the floor of a cart, and so I slept till morning. Mr. 
Hilyard, I learned afterwards, was not so weary but he could sit up 
and feast and drink whisky with them, and talk to them in their 
own tongue, so that they took him for one of themselves, only dis- 
guised for sinful purposes of his own. 

We parted from these humble friends with gratitude. I havo 
never seen them since, but for their sake I regard this unhappy 
race of wanderers with compassion, and never see a caravan or ;v 
camp without giving something to the women, and a word of 
counsel, which I doubt is thrown away, unto the men. 

' I have heard news,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' These people were, it 
seems, following the army when, like a mad dog which hath nq 
purpose, we marched up and down the Border. They picked up all 
the things which we threw away or left behind, and now have 
stored up, against the time when they can find a market, a great 
quantity of guns and pikes gathered on the ground after each day's 
camp. Some of them came into Preston with us, but scoured, 
like me, after the surrender ; some stayed with the enemy. One of 
them was sent by Lord Derwentwater to Dilston. The Countess, 
instantly put together all the papers she could find, and gaye them 
in charge to one of the cottagers whom she cajj trust. Then, with 
her children, she started for LondQjj,' 

Alas ! those tender children I 



TO LONDON. 223 

'Lady Nithsdale,' he went on, ' is also upon the road. Heavens ! 
it makes one's heart to bleed only to think of the anxious ladies 
who are toiling along this dreadful road amid these pitiless snows ; 
and of the innocent children who will be robbed of their inherit- 
ance — and for what — for what ? Will there ever come a time when 
mankind will cease to bring ruin, death, and misery upon their 
heads for the sake of princes — yea, and of princes who deserve 
nothing at their hands but contempt and deposition ?' 

He then began to harangue upon the wickedness, the tyranny, 
and the cruelty of kings from Nero to Louis le Grand ; I think 
that his discourse lasted the whole day, and that he omitted no par- 
ticulars of royal crimes. As to his charges against kings and sovereign 
princes I have nothing to say, except that we must take into account 
the fact that they are but men, and exposed to great temptations. 
Perhaps some day the world may happen upon a race of virtuous 
princes, in answer to the prayers which loyal people so continually 
send up to the Throne. But to rail at kings as if we could do 
without them is to rail at a Divinely-appointed institution, and, there- 
fore, hath in it something of blasphemy, for which I rebuked this too 
daring speaker. But he laughed, asking what I knew of Divine 
Right. Now, when you ask a woman concerning the foundations 
of her faith, you put a question which she cannot answer, because 
she must needs believe what she has been taught. But if there 
were to be no kings, what would become of the virtue of loyalty, 
and for what purpose was it implanted in the heart of man ? Strange 
that so good a Tory as Mr. Hilyard had always been in Northum- 
berland, should become every day, the nearer we got to London, 
more of a Whig ! 

I think, however, that Mr. Hilyard's peevishness about kings 
sprang from the bitter weather, which made his nose so blue and 
his hands so cold that he must needs find vent in ill-temper against 
something. Surely there never was so cold a winter or such dread- 
ful weather for those poor ladies who, like myself, were travelling 
up to London on behalf of the prisoners. When we reached York, 
after six days of the greatest hardships that I ever endured, I was 
fain get to bed, and stayed there from Saturday afternoon till 
Monday morning. Here Mr. Hilyard resolved to put aside the 
Northumbrian way of speech, and became a Yorkshireman. No 
one, however, suspected us or asked any questions ; nor was any 
insult offered to me, as Mr. Hilyard feared might happen. I think, 
for my own part, that the common sort of English, everywhere, as 
well as in Northumberland, though rude and rough, do not insult 
women. This savage vice is reserved for gentlemen ; not the 
meaner sort of men, but those who scour the streets at night, and 
intercept solitary passengers in unfrequented parts. 

At York Mr. Hilyard cast about for a waggon which might be 
going to London, but there was none ; the weather being so bad 
that no cart or waggon could take the road. While we were there 
Mr. Hilyard learned that the unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale, 
going up to London Q.n the same errand as ourselves, would not 



214 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

slay for the weather to break, and a coach to start, but was riding 
on with all speed. 

' She is a great lady,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' daughter of Lord Powio, 
whom King James at St. Germain's made a duke ; one of her sisters 
is the wife of Lord Montague ; she hath cousins on both sides, yet 
I doubt if they will avail her aught.' 

' If she have so many cousins,' I said, ' and yet cannot wait for 
the weather to break, how much more should I push on, who have 
so few to help !' 

He made no objection to this, and we left York the next morn- 
ing, though the snow was still so deep that not only the stage, but 
even the post was stopped. But there was one happiness, that the 
road grows easier and smoother with every mile that one gets 
nearer London, and there are many more inns of all kinds, especially 
of those frequented by cattle-drovers, waggoners, carters, carriers, 
and handicraftsmen going from town to town upon the way ; there- 
fore suitable for a blacksmith going to London looking for work, 
with his sister looking for respectable service. These places were 
rough, and the food was coarse, like the talk ; yet they were safe 
for us. Now I remarked, not once or twice, but everywhere along 
the road, that the common people, who talked about nothing but 
the Rebellion, were one and all hot for the Protestant Succession. 
I heard it everywhere declared that the intention of the Prince was 
to introduce the Pope and the Roman religion, with the Inquisition, 
the rack, stake, thumbscrew, and all the tortures of which they had 
heard. As soon as he was firmly on the throne all good Protestants 
would be sent to the flames, after having their limbs cruelly racked 
and twisted. I know not what may have been the opinions of the 
country gentlefolk, but as regards the common country people there 
could be no doubt whatever on this point. Nothing could be held 
in greater abhorrence by them than a Popish sovereign. I shuddered, 
too, at their bloodthirstiness. The gallows was too good for such 
traitors and villains as Lord Derwentwater and General Forster ; 
the most exquisite tortures should be prepared for them, every 
man loudly expressing his willingness to administer them, so that it 
was shocking to hear them talk. And then most pious ejaculations 
for the safety of Mother Church interlarded with the most des- 
perately profane oaths ! Mr. Hilyard seemed to take a pleasure in 
encouraging this cruel and sanguinary talk ; and, when I reproached 
him with it, excused himself partly on the ground that he dared 
not even be suspected of Jacobite principles, lest all should be dis- 
covered, and therefore he fell in with their mood ; and next, that 
many: of those who were loudest in their talk wero, he thought, 
secretly on the Prince's side, but afraid of betraying themselves, 
»nd that it amused him to watch their anxiety to seem on the safe 
side. ' But,' he said, ' doth not this show the madness of our late 
attempt ? What is it like — and on which side — the voice of the 
country of which we have heard so much ? Where are those hearts 
which were said to be beating for the Prince ?' 

He could not contain his indignation and wrath at the folly which 



TO LONDON. 225 

had plunged us all in such misery, but inveighed without ceasing at 
the cruelty and recklessness of those in London who caused the 
whole business. But when he perceived that his words sank so 
deep in my heart, that I was falling into a kind of melancholy or 
despair, he changed the talk, and would speak no more in this 
gloomy way of the rising or its consequences. On the contrary, he 
assumed the bearing and manner of one who is on a pleasant journey. 
Though each step was in three feet of snow, and we made no more, 
but sometimes much less, than two miles in an hour, he laughed 
and sang as he went, insomuch that I should have thought him 
wanting in sensibility had I not perceived that he was playing a 
part in order to divert my thoughts. And always — can I ever be 
sufficiently gratef ul to him, or pray earnestly enough for his spiri- 
tual and temporal good ? — careful for such comfort and alleviation 
as he could procure for me, bargaining when we stopped for a good 
bed for me, and if possible a bed in a room by myself with no other 
women, because these were sometimes rough and rude ; and at 
York he bought a great soft rug, which he tied upon the saddle in 
such a way that he could fold it over and wrap my feet, which 
before bad been almost frozen. He carried with him always a 
bottle of cordial, or strong waters, with which to refresh me (and 
himself also) when I was faint. As for the fatigue of the journey, 
that had to be borne with patience, but the suffering — nay, the 
torture — he endured for himself without repining, though he re- 
lieved it for me ! Truth to say, it was a fearful journey ; for the 
sun never once showed his face, nor did the snow cease falling, or 
the frost cease to continue, or the cold wind of the north to change. 
All the towns were alike, and every village a copy of the village we 
passed two hours before — covered up with deep drifts of snow ; so 
that not only did it seem to me as if I must spend the rest of my 
life in plodding through the snow, but as if I had never done any- 
thing else, the former part of it having been a dream. Further, I 
could not but feel, which Mr. Hilyard had put into my mind, as if 
Heaven itself was showing its displeasure at our enterprise. Could 
the Lord, after all, be on the side of a Usurper ? If so, where 
was the Right Divine of which we had been told so much ? 

' It is by travelling,' said Mr. Hilyard cheerfully, diverting my 
thoughts, and pretending to enjoy the journey, ' that we learn the 
world and watch the manners of men. I have always envied the 
great travellers of whom we read : Herodotus, Ulysses, Marcus 
Polus Venetus, Christopher Columbus, Sir Francis Drake, and 
others, though none of them, I think, had worse weather and worse 
roads than we. Therefore it is the greater merit to bear up cheer- 
fully and keep a brave heart as you do, Miss Dorothy ' — here I 
lifted my head and pushed back my hood a little. Alas ! the same 
falling of the snow, the same drifts against the trunks, the boughs 
drooping with the weight — when would this journey end ? 'Like 
them,' Mr. Hilyard continued, ' I would take ship and sail for dis- 
tant islands, and resolve the many doubts which beset those who 

ould construct ihe mapna mundi. Perhaps upon the way I should 

15 



226 VORUxHY PURSIER. 

encounter Eiias Artifex, the Wandering Jew, who must be by this 
time an accomplished geographer. Then I would learn whether 
there be a high rock of loadstone, or whether it be the polo star 
which cr.useth the compass to point one way ; where is the king- 
dom of Prester John ; whether the story of the great bird Rucke 
in Madagascar is true, and if he can of a verity carry an elephant ; 
what is the cause of the Nile's annual rising, what of the currents 
in the Atlantic ; what is the outlet of the Caspian Sea ; whether 
Mount Caucasus be higher than the Pico of Teneriffe ; whither go 
the birds in winter, and if it be true that in Muscovy is a race of 
men who sleep all the winter like dormice ; where was the site of 
the earthly Paradise — with many other great and important ques- 
tions not to be solved except by travelling to those places.' 

And so on, talking continually, and forcing me to listen, lest per- 
chance I might fall into that kind of stupor of which during those 
days he was very much afraid. 

In a word, it was the most frightful journey ever woman under- 
took. Even now, I dream of it sometimes — and in my waking 
moments it seems to have been a dream — and always along that 
white, silent and terrible road, there was present before my eyes 
the vision of a scaffold and a block, with the glittering steel of the 
axe, and in my mind the story of that Israelitish woman who spread 
sackcloth upon the rock, and watched there day and night, so that 
neither the beasts of the field nor the fowls of the air should touch 
the hanging corpses of her sons. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

LORD CREWE. 

Bo, at last, we came to Stene, Lord Crewe's place in Northampton- 
shire. 

Now, while we drew near to the park-gates, and were thinking 
how best to convey a message to her ladyship, there passed out a 
gent'eman of grave and reverend appearance, in cassock and full 
wig, whom I judged might be in the Bishop's service. So I stopped 
him, and asked him civilly if he was perchance his lordship's chap- 
lain. 

' I am,' he replied, in some surprise at the question. ' Why, my 
good girl ?' 

' Tell him, Mr. Hilyard,' I said. ' Tell him all.' 

' Sir,' said Mr. Hiiyard, ' this young lady is not what she seems. 
She is Miss Dorothy Forster, sister of Mr. Thomas Forster the 
younger, who lately commanded the rebel army, and niece of Lady 
Crewe. We are on our way to London ; but first she would have 
speech, if it may be, with her ladyship.' 

' What !' cried the clergyman. ' Have you not heard ? Good 
TTeaven ! Her ladyship hath been dead these six weeks and more !' 

Dead ! Lady Crewo was dead ! Then was I friondless indeed. 

' 8ho died,' ho wont on, ' of a fit or convulsion, caused, we are 
'""ured, by her anxiety ou learning that a warrant was out for the 



LORD CREWE. 237 

apprehension of her nephew. She never learned the news of his 
rising, which was kept from her by order of my lord, for fear of 
greater anxiety. She died on the lGth day of October.' 

' The stars in their courses fight against us,' said Mr. Hilyard, in 
consternation. ' Terror ubique tremor, timor undique et undique 
terror.' 

' Who are you, sir, pray ?' asked the chaplain, astonished to hear 
Latin from the mouth of a blacksmith. 

' I was formerly Mr. Forster's tutor, and have since been his 
steward. I am in disguise, partly because I also was with the in- 
surgents, and am not desirous of being taken. But, sir, could we 
speak with his lordship ?' 

' My lord is much broken by the death of her ladyship. Yet, I 
doubt not that he will receive her niece.' 

He took us into the park, and so into the hall of the house (a 
great and stately house it was, though not so fine as that of Bishop's 
Auckland or the Castle of Durham), and begged me to wait a few 
moments while he sought his lordship. 

Lord Crewe was sitting in his library in a high-backed armchair, 
a book on the table beside him, and a great coal-fire burning. 

' Come, child !' he said, holding out both hands ; ' come, kiss 
me for thy dear aunt's sake ! Thou hast heard my irreparable 
loss.' 

' I have just learned it, my lord, to my infinite sorrow. For, oh ! 
I have lost her to whom I looked for help at this moment, and she 
is gone ; and I may now lose my brother, who is a prisoner, and on 
his way to London to be tried.' And so, weeping and sobbing, I 
fell at his lordship's knees. 

' Ay,' he said, laying his hand upon my head, ' weep and cry, 
child ! Youth hath tears ; age hath none. Life hath nothing left 
for me : I have lost all, my dear. Thou art strangely like her when 
she was young. Stay with me awhile, and let me comfort myself 
by merely looking upon thy face. Nay, I have heard of thy mis- 
fortunes. Tom is a prisoner. Fools all ! fools all ! Yet I warned 
him ; I admonished him. This it is not to listen to the counsel of 
an old man. What would you do for him ?' 

' With permission, my lord, we would go to London and try to 
gave him,' Mr. Hilyard replied. 

' Who are you, sir ?' he asked. ' Oh, I remember now. It is the 
Terras Filius. And how, sir, doth so great and powerful a man as 
you propose to tear these rebels from the grasp of Justice ?' 

' As yet, my lord, we know not ; but we hope that a way will be 
opened. There are, first, the chances in our favour. The Court 
may take a lenient view, seeing that so many are involved ; or there 
is the clemency of the King.' 

' Pass on to the next chance,' said the Bishop. ' Build not on tha 
clemency of Kings.' 

' Why, my lord, if ho is ta be tried, there is not much more to be 
said. But perhaps he may not be tried at all. A pardon might bo 
procured by frienda in high place/ 



228 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' In this matter, sir, look not to me for help. I am now old. All 
my friends, if I have any left, are on the other side.' 

' Then, my lord, saving your presence, there are juries to be in- 
fluenced ' 

' They will not be so foolish as to try them by a jury.' 

' Xext, there are, my lord, asking your pardon, guards to be cor- 
rupted, as has been done in many famous examples.' 

' Tush — tush ! tell me not of these secrets. You will want money, 
sir, and much money. Man, let me look at you full in the face. 
Your eyes seem honest. In these times, and in such a service, the 
scarcity of honest men is lamentably felt. Yet you seem honest, 
and yon have proved faithful. Suppose. Dorothy, child, I were to 
find you the money — doth Tom trust this man ? To be sure, he 
would trust any man who offered. It is their easy temper, not their 
ill-fate, which hath ruined the Forsters.' 

' We have trusted him, my lord, for fifteen years.' 

' Look ye, sirrah !' his lordship shook his long and lean forefinger 
in the face of Mr. Hilyard. ' Look ye, if you now betray the trust, 
the malediction of the Church itself shall follow yon to your death 
— and after,' he added solemnly. Then he paused. ' To do these 
things,' he presently went on, ' may require much money. He must 

be defended if he be brought to trial : if he never come to trial 

How much money have you ?' 

' We had twenty-four guineas when we left Blanchland. We 
have spent six on the road. There are eighteen guineas left It is 
all our stock.' 

' Eighteen guineas !' my lord laughed. 'It is a goodly stock. 
Now, sir, I will give you a letter to my agent and factor in London. 
He will provide you with all you want — understand, all ! Do not 
be afraid to ask. My wife, the most beautiful and the most faithful 
woman in the world, is dead : alas ! I, too, shall follow soon ; my 
days will be few, and full of sorrow. I am old — I am eighty-two 
years of age — my work is done — I have now nothing left but medi- 
tation and prayer.' He went on in this way so that I thought hia 
mind was wandering with age and trouble ; but he did not forget 
what he designed to say. ' Therefore, because she would have 
wished it, her nephew, who hath proved a fool and a companion of 
fools, shall not suffer, if I can help it, the just consequence of his 
folly. Go, then, to this man of business, and let him know who thou 
art ; give him my letter, and, when the time comes, ask boldly for 
as much as will be wanted — nay, if it cost ten or twenty thousand 
pounds he will give it thee.' 

' Oh. my lord !' Mr. Hilyard fairly burst into tears. ' This is 
princely generosity. I hoped for nothing more than a help to main- 
tain my mistress in London. Why, with such help as this, his 
honour is as good as free already.' He knelt and kissed his lord- 
ship's hand. 

' Go. fellow,' said the Bishop, not unmoved. ' But remember lest 
they say, as was said to Peter, " Thou also art one of them.'' Keep 
thine own neck out of the halter, if thou wouldst save Tom For- 



LORD CREWE. 2:9 

Bter'o. And, as regards the money, waste not : yet spare not. 
Enough said. And now, Dorothy, if thou wilt stay awhile in my 
poor house, let me have thee clad in habits more suitable than 
these ' 

'I thank you, my lord, for all your kindness ; but I cannot rest 
day or night until I am in London." 

So we took our letter, with a full purse of money besides, and 
receiving the Bishop's blessing, went on our way. My aunt was 
dead ; but her affection for her own family survived in the remem- 
brance of her husband. 

I never saw so great a change in any man as was wrought in Mr. 
Hilyard by the prospect of this money. He capered and leaped, he 
danced and sang upon the heavy road. 

' Why,' he said, ' we are made men now ! Let us rejoice. Let us 
concert our plans.' 

He devised a thousand plans, but none of them suited, and he 
began again every hour with a new one. Most, indeed, seemed to 
me as unreal and improbable as the intrigue of a comedy or the 
plot of a tragedy. He seemed to multiply difficulties in order to 
get rid of them by sudden surprises. Nevertheless it pleased him, 
and it beguiled the journey, which continued as cold as before, but 
was not so miserable, because we now had money and could dwell 
upon the future with a little hope. Indeed, it passed all under- 
standing to think that I started on this long and costly journey with 
such an end in view, and no more in money than twenty-four 
guineas ! But then I only knew, concerning money, that, in 
Northumberland, with a guinea one can keep a household for nigh 
upon a month. As for money of my own, I never had any. 

' "With money,' went on Mr. Hilyard, ' dungeons are opened, 
prison-bars removed, and captives set free. With money, justice 
may be bought, as well as injustice. With money, good may be 
accomplished as well as evil. Why, the history of the world is the 
history of bribing. I could narrate endless examples ' 

He did ; and during several days he instructed me in the part 
which bribes had played in the progress of the world. So that in 
the end it seemed to me as if nothing, good or bad, had ever been 
accomplished without a bribe and a pretence. But such knowledge 
doth not tend to edification. 

It was on the 9th day of December that we drew near to London. 
Now, as we walked along the road we became aware of a great stir 
and bustle, many men and women hastening southward, the same 
way as we were going, as if impelled by desire to see some wonderful 
show. The road was also covered with waggons, carts, and horsemen. 

' This,' said Mr. Hilyard, with pride, 'is what happeneth daily in 
the great roads which lead to London.' 

' Yes,' I said. ' But why do all the people wear favours ?' 

This he did not know ; but he asked one, and presently came back 
to me with perturbed countenance. 'Miss Dorothy,' he whispered, 
' we are none too soon. This day tJie prisoners will be marched into 
London.' 



*y> DOROTHY FORSTER. 

It was the very day when the procession of prisoners arrived. 
We were to see them pass, willy-nilly ; for there was no turning 
back without exciting distrust, and the people were very fierce and 
angry. Mr. Hilyard even bought a favour for himself and another 
for me, to avert suspicion. Thus decorated, we followed with the 
stream of country people who nocked along the road. They were 
all going, we learned, to a place called Highgate, where there is a 
lofty hill from which London maybe viewed (they say Whittington, 
while sitting here upon the grass, heard the bells of Bow calling him 
back) ; and they were flocking to see the most wonderful show for 
many a long year, namely, three hundred English gentlemen led in 
triumph along the way for the mob to jeer at and insult. Truly a 
magnanimous thing for a victor and a Christian King to command ! 

If the country people came to Highgate in their smocks, the town 
people came out in their greasy coats ; there were thousands on the 
hill and on the slopes ; where the road sloped downward through 
hedges and trees, now white and heavy with snow, we saw the 
mighty multitude rolling to and fro like waves near the shore, and 
heard them roaring like the waves that beat upon the rocks. Some 
standing near us said aloud that the prisoners would never reach 
the town, but be torn to pieces upon the road. 

' Take courage,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' Look ! there is a detachment 
of Guards to convoy them safe, let the mob rear as loud as they 
please.' 

Presently I perceived the melancholy procession slowly coming 
towards us. Alas ! alas ! Was this the end ? Was it for this that 
my lady flung down her fan, and I with joyful heart applauded and 
approved the deed ? They defiled slowly past us, riding two abreast, 
and divided into four detachments or companies. The arms of every 
man were pinioned behind him ; his horse was led by a foot soldier 
carrying a musket with fixed bayonet ; each division was preceded 
by a troop of horse with drawn swords, their drums insulting the 
unhappy prisoners by beating a triumphal march in derision. 

As this miserable procession marched past the people crowded in 
on every side, crying out the most frightful imprecations, of which 
' Papists ! Bloody Catholics and murderers !' were the least injurious. 
Most of the gentlemen thus insulted rode by proudly with head 
erect, as if they were in a triumphal procession. Was it possible, I 
asked myself, that Englishmen could thus come out to insult the 
fallen? 

In the last division rode the English noblemen, and with them 
my unhappy brother. He sat with hanging head, bis hands tied 
behind him, his cheek pale. Alas ! poor Tom ! What were his 
thoughts ? ' He knows not,' whispered Mr. Hilyard, ' of the letter 
in my pocket.' Beside him rode Mr. Patten, his chaplain. He, for 
his part, seemed proud of his position ; he looked about him cheer- 
fully, and nodded his head to the crowd, which assailed him with 
the vilest language. ' He is a brave man,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' It 
repents me that I called him Creeping Bob. I have forgiven him 
his Oxford business.' As for Lord Derwentwater, he sat upright — 



LORD CREWE. 231 

ids eyes bright, his cheek flushed, looking neither to the right nor 
to the left. 

' Draw yonr hood closer,' Mr. Hilyard whispered ; ' this rabble 
must not see yonr tears.' 

When the last of the Dragoons who brought up the rear had 
gone, the mob crowded in and ran along the road behind. There 
were left only the decent sort. One of those, dressed soberly in a 
brown coat, said to me, gravely : 

' Young woman, this is a sorry sight, but yet a joyful for honest 
folk. Remember that these men are the enemies of freedom. I 
desire not the blood of any man ; but I pray above all things for 
continuance of liberty, especially of conscience and opinion. Keep 
thy tears, then, for a better cause.' 

• Alas, sir !' I could not refrain from saying, ' what if a woman 
have friends — a brother, even — among them '?' 

' Madam ' — he took off his hat — ■ I ask your pardon, and I pray 
for a happy deliverance for your friend — or brother.' 

He went away, but this imprudence frightened Mr. Hilyard 
mightily, and he hastened to push on down the bill. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN LONDON. 

In this way we came to town, where my first night was full of 
dreadful dreams, and my sleep troubled with the sight of the poor 
prisoners marching along the road amid the derision and the hoot- 
ings of the mob. But at the end of the road there was a black 
scaffold and a gibbet beside it, with hanging ropes ; a block, and a 
man with an axe : and beside me stood no other than my maid, 
Jenny Lee, saying, as she pointed to Tom. • Great name ; great 
blame,' as she had said on the Eve of St. John. 

The place where I was lodged was in a street near Drury Lane, 
called Great Wyld Street, at the house of one John Purdy, a cousin 
of John Purdy, the Bamborongh blacksmith, himself born at Lueker, 
but come to London to seek his fortune in that trade, and knowing 
me very well when I was little. He was married to a buxom young 
London woman, and had a family of four or five children, being a 
thriving tradesman. His wife, a decent, kind-hearted body, though 
a stickler for the Protestant Succession, and of the Independent 
sect, was curious at first to look upon the sister of the General 
Forster of whose doings everyone had lately heard so much (the 
people, I know not why. called him the ' Man under the Rose, and 
he was popularly supposed to be the chief mover and agent in the 
whole affair). 

' Sometimes,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' popular beliefs make history. 
Can it be that Catiline was only an instrument, and Spartacus a 
tool ? Will his honour, the dupe of crafty and designing men, go 
down to posterity as the fabricator of the whole business ?' 

In the morning the good woman made a hundred excuses to come 
into my room : she had a log cf ship-timber fresh come vp from 



332 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Deptford ; she -would ask my pleasure concerning dinner and supper \ 
she could get me some fine fresh fish — and always with something 
about the prisoners. They were followed with shouting and 
curses.' she said, in her desire to comfort me, ; all through the town 
and as far as the Tower, where they have placed the lords ; they 
sang songs running along beside them, and dangled warming-pans 
out of the windows. As for Lord Derwentwater, they say he is as 
handsome as the day, and never lowered his head or made the least 
sign that he heard a word ; he might have been going to his wedding- 
instead of bis death, the poor young gentleman ! As for the gen- 
tlemen, some of them are in Newgate. 'Tis a pity ! Mercy, they 
say, will be shown to none, but all will be hanged. Oh dear ! Yes, 
hanged, drawn, and quartered, and their legs and heads set up on 
Temple Bar. A thousand pities, to be sure !' 

It was cold comfort, indeed, that this good woman gave me. Her 
husband, however, was better. He came to oirer me his best services, 
and if there was anything he could do for his honour or for me, to 
let him know ; he said that, of course, he recognised Mr. Hilyard in 
his disguise as^a countryman, for which he supposed there was good 
reason ; b»t he was a Xorth-countryman, and knew the respect due 
to the Forsters, and how to keep a quiet tongue in his head, especially 
where his wife was concerned. 

Early next morning Mr. Hilyard himself came to see me. He 
was now transformed again, feeling as much pleasure in this, his 
second disguise, as a child feels in a new toy. He was, if yon 
please, a physician, with an immense great wig. a black coat, and 
sword — very grave, but with nose in the air ; he rode in a hackney- 
coach, because, he said, nc one regardeth a physician who walks ; 
besides, it was sixteen years and more since he had sat in a glass- 
coach. I do not know that there was any necessity for this careful 
disguise, seeing that no one in London knew him, and that all who 
were with him in the rebel army were dispersed or prisoners. But 
he thought so, and it gave him confidence. Besides, he felt himself 
a secret agent or officer of Lord Crewe, and therefore bound, I 
suppose, to spend his money. 

' My Lord Bishop,' he said, ' will approve of this disguise when 
he hears of it. Money cannot be better laid out than in artifices 
which prevent suspicion. Until our plan is completed and we are 
ready for action, we must lie quiet and snug, and take care to give 
no occasion for talk.' 

He then sat down and proceeded with his news. But first I 
remarked in him a great vivacity and air of enjoyment. He said 
that it was the noise of the London streets and the smell of the 
London air which raised and exhilarated his spirits, so that he felt 
an uncommon lightness of heart, although the circumstances of this 
return to his native air were so unhappy. 

' And now,' he said, ' I must tell you that his honour is lodged in 
Newgate, with seventy or eighty of the gentlemen, and the rest are 
in the Fleet and Marshalsea, except the lords, who are all in the 
Tower. So much I learned iu the coffee- house on Ladgate Hill, 



IN LONDON. 233 

whither I repaired after buying these clothes at second-hand in the 
Minories. The talk is of nothing but the rebels and the prisoners. 
It is sixteen years and more since last I smelt the tobacco and the 
coffee. I hope you like this wig ; it cost me three guineas, and was 
the property of a great physician now deceased. All the talk, I say, 
is of the prisoners. They say the insults of the mob were incredible. 
The mob is now fired with a noble zeal for the Protestant Succes- 
sion, and hath grown mighty pious. It is a religious fervour which 
is too hot to last, but may yet prove disastrous to our friends. I 
have found a lodging in Great Queen Street, not far from here and 
convenient for Drury Lane Theatre, where I can lie snug. I have 
told the landlady, who is a respectable widow woman, that I am a 
physician from the country, come to town on business. I have paid 
her a fortnight in advance to prevent questions being asked. And 
now comes another piece of news which will indeed astonish you. 
Last night I went to the theatre to divert myself.' 

' To divert yourself 1 Oh, Mr. Hilyard ! did you come to London 
to divert yourself ?' 

'Nay — nay — but, believe me, when nothing can be done, it is 
good to relieve the mind. We must not think of one thing only, 
or we might presently fall into a melancholy, a lethargy, and so be 
able to effect nothing. Consider, pray, how long and painful hath 
been the journey to Loudon, and with what sad thoughts and 
gloomy forebodings we Jengthened the miles. Believe me, Miss 
Dorothy, not for the pleasure of the acting did I go, but as medicine 
or physic to the soul.' 

He spoke so earnestly that one could not but forgive him. Besides, 
it was sixteen years since the poor man had seen the theatre. 

' The piece was the " Cobbler of Preston." But never mind the 
piece, although it was, for that matter, admirably played. Yet more 
fire might have been expressed by him who played — but, I forget ; 
my news has nothing to do with the play. I would you had been 
in the house to see the brave show, the beaux and the modish ladies. 
I could have wept to think of the old times when I used to go there 
whenever I could find a sixpence for the gallery, or a shilling for 
the pit. The house quite full, and the talk about nothing but the 
brave bearing of the prisoners. Mostly my Lord Derwentwater was 
commended, because of all he seems to have the poorest chance of 
escape. They have already began to hang them in Liverpool, it is 
said.' 

' But your news — your news, Mr. Hilyard !' 

' It is that the principal female character was played — you will 
never guess ! It was played — you were never so surprised in all 
your life — and played with so great a fire, such justness of gesture 
and looks, such perfect command of the part and knowledge of the 
lines as astonished me — by none other, if you please, than your own 
maid — Jenny Lee !' 

' Why,' I said, ' I heard that she had joined the players. There is 
no reason, that I see, for surprise. She was a clever girl, and I 
hope she has remained good.' 



334 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' Oh !' he said. ' Are you not surprised ? Should you wonder if 
I, beginning as a humble curate, were to become Archbishop of 
Canterbury ? Or if a lad who sweeps out the chambers of a barrister 
were to become Lord Chancellor? Or if a drummer-boy should 
grow to command the army ? Yet, believe me, this is what Jenny 
Lee has done. Among actresses she is a Bishop, a General, a Lord 
Chancellor. Indeed she deserves her good fortune, if ever woman 
did.' 

' By reason of her good conduct.' 

' Nay ; what matter her conduct, good or bad ? On the stage she 
is Calista, Almeria, Celinda, what you will ; off the stage we have 
nothing to say or think of her, any more than of any other woman. 
I mean that she hath become a most accomplished and wonderful 
actress. But this is not all. After the play was over I went to the 
stage-door, and begged that a letter might be taken to Mistress Lee 
from an old friend. It was but a line that I wrote, asking that an 
old friend from Northumberland might see her. Now be prepared 
for a new surprise. She came down in a few minutes, but knew me 
not, so that I had to whisper my name ; and then, without saying a 
word, she took my hand and led me to her own coach. " Come," she 
said, " and have supper with me, and teU me all." ' 

' Her own coach ? Jenny Lee's coach '/' 

' Why, I said, did I not, that she is a qu a en among actresses? Of 
course she has her coach, and coachman too. She lives in Red Lion 
Square, a very convenient and fashionable part of town, though 
somewhat far from the theatre. I found in her lodgings no other 
person than Mr. Frank Radcliffe.' 

' I think,' I said, ' that a gentleman of his birth might be more 
choice in his company. Did he, too, go to the theatre, or to sup with 
a play-actress, to divert his mind ?' 

' But,' he repeated, ' she is a very great actress indeed. However, 
there is not much diversion for Mr. Frank. To begin with, I saw 
clearly that the poor young gentleman is melancholy mad in love 
with Jenny. She can do with him what she pleases. You remember 
the strange thing you saw at Dilston. She orders and he obeys. 
Yet he looks little like a lover, and is so worn and thin that you 
would not know him. He says that had he known of the rising he 
would have hurried to the north to join his brother, but he had no 
hint or suspicion of it. The poor young gentleman, with his hacking 
cough, would have been killed in a week. I told him, that, so far 
as I could learn, the Earl had no hint or suspicion of it either, and 
that, for his own sake, his friends were well pleased that he had not 
joined that unfortunate enterprise. I then explained the cause of 
my coming to London, and the manner, which greatly affected Jenny 
(whose heart, I am sure is good, though she be an actress). She shed 
tears, and inquired if in any way she might help us in our business.' 

' Why,' I said, ' the Forsters must be sunk low indeed, if they 
must stoop to seek the aid of an actress who was once a servant- 
maid.' 

Mr. Hilyard replied nothing. 



IN LONDON. 235 

1 To be sure,' I went on, ' you yourself seem infatuated with the 
girl. Is it not intolerable that she should steal away the senses 
of a young gentleman with her sorceries ? And you would have me, 
her former mistress, go to her for counsel and aid ?' 

' Forgive me,' he replied humbly. ' As for her sorceries, I doubt 
if they are now, whatever they were once, other than any woman 
Can exercise with black eyes and pretty face, and such a wit as Jenny 
hath. 'Tis true she was your maid ; but she is so no longer. All 
things must have a beginning. Why, I was myself but the son of a 
vintner, and have, if the truth be told, sat at the spigot when a boy 
and filled the measures. Yet was I thought worthy to be enrolled 
among the gentlemen volunteers, and to fight beside Lord Derwent- 
water himself at Preston. Jenny was once your maid ; but she is 
now a great and wonderful actress.' 

' Say no more of her, Mr. Hilyard,' I replied. 

' Alas !' he said, ' will the day ever come when ladies will look 
upon actors as they have long since looked upon painters and poets, 
and hold them in equal honour ? But fear not, Miss Dorothy ; 
Jenny, poor girl, shall not, as she desires, pay her respects to you. 
Yet she wept, thinking of your kindness towards her.' 

He forbore at the time to tell me more, but afterwards I learned 
what passed. It seems that, like Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Oldfield, 
and other great actresses, Jenny was continually besieged by troops 
of lovers and gallants, who swarmed after her like flies in August. 
I do not know what magic charm there is in her profession and 
calling which causeth men to run after an actress ; but this I am 
assured is the case with all of them who are young and pretty. 
Among Jenny's courtiers were some of rank and high in office, 
whose names (though I learned them) must not be mentioned here. 
But she would have nothing to say to any of them, being resolved 
upon nothing less than marrying Frank Radcliffe, who loved her 
with a kind of madness, and on keeping her reputation unspotted 
for his sake. Because she was an actress, there were stories told 
about her, and if these were true (but they were not) she must 
ihave been the worst of women. She promised Mr. Hilyard at that 
supper that she would consider, from her knowledge of the town, 
what was best to be done, and how she should work among those 
;great gentlemen who dangled after her, for Mr. Forster. As for 
tthe Earl, he, she said, was altogether game too high for her : he 
would command a host of friends, and it depended on nothing but 
the King's clemency or his revenge. But, as for a plain country 
gentleman, why, perhaps — she could not say — and he was the 
General, whicb made it difficult — but she would consult with a 
certain great man about the Court. All this from an actress and a 
gipsy girl, who had been my maid ! But strange things happen 
still in London ! All this she would do, and more if she could, for 
Miss Dorothy's sake, and for no other's ; unless it might be for Mr. 
Hilyard himself, who first taught her to act. 

' Her supper was noble,' Mr. Hilyard continued. ' After the 
meals wo have taken on the road, it was a feast of Belshazzar. But 



236 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Mr. Frank touched nothing, coughing grievously. After supper we 
had whisky punch, the first I have tasted since we left the north. 
Alas ! shall I ever drink it again with his honour in the Manor 
House ?' Here his eyes overflowed. ' It cannot be but we will 
somehow get him off — either by interest or else by the golden key.' 

I confess that I was at first humiliated and shamed at the thought 
of owing anything to the backstairs influence of Jenny Lee, and I 
rejoice still to think that in the end it was not needed. I do not 
share Mr. Hilyard's admiration of the actor's art, nor do I find 
anything admirable, untess shamelessness be admirable, in standing 
up before a thousand people to recite verses, dressed up in a gilt 
crown and a silk gown. But I was sorry to hear the bad news con- 
cerning Frank Radcliffe, whom I resolved upon seeing as soon as 
possible. Meantime, for a few days, nothing could be done, Mr. 
Hilyard said, except to seek out such friends as might heip us. 
Now, so unhappy were we, that of all our friends and cousins — 
who are legion — there was not one who was on the other side, ex- 
cepting only Lady Cowper. 

In the afternoon of that day, Mr. Hilyard took me abroad, to see 
some of the sights of London. First, he led me to Drury Lane, 
where he pointed out the great theatre, the house where Nell 
Gwynne lived, the place where Lord Craven, who married Princess 
Elizabeth, had his palace, and many other curious places. Through 
by-lanes and narrow passages filled with shops and people he next 
led me into the Strand, which is truly a wonderful thoroughfare, 
with, on the south side, Somerset House and the site of the old 
Savoy (now in ruins), Buckingham House, Northumberland House, 
and many others. The day was very cold, but the ladies were 
abroad, some in coaches and some walking, the latter mostly 
attended by gentlemen. Then Mr. Hilyard showed me the Park 
and Spring Gardens, but I cannot understand how any can call 
them beautiful. Perhaps, when the leaves are on the "trees, the 
long straight alleys may look well. 

'You should see them,' said my guide, 'in June, when the trees 
are green, and beneath the trees the fine ladies and the beaux. 
That is, indeed, a sight to make one dream of heaven.' 

From the Park he led me to Westminster Abbey. Here, as the 
day was growing dark, we wandered in the dim and awful twilight 
among the monuments, while our footsteps echoed in the lofty 
roof, and our voices resounded overhead in gentle thunder. 

' It is a place for prayer and meditation,' I said. ' Surely in so 
great a city there must be many unhappy.' 

' I doubt it not,' replied Mr. Hilyird. ' The city hath thousands 
of poor wretches.' 

' Do they come here.' I asked, ' to pray and repent ?' 

He shook his head. 

'The Church of England,' he replied, 'keeps these great cathe- 
drals for the spiritual benefit of the better sort. For the baser 
kind, and to further and encourage their prayers and repentance, 
there are mercifully provided the whipping-post, the pillory, Bride- 



IN LONDON. 537 

well, where the lash is not spared, and Newgate, with its gaol-fever, 
its chains, its greedy warders, and the Reverend Ordinary, who also 
goeth in the cart to Tyburn with those who are to be hanged.' 

Let me here set down a strange thing, which I thought a freak 
of Mr. Hilyard's ; yet to which I consented, because one would not 
throw away a chance : and in the long-run, it helped me much, and 
perhaps assured me safety, as you will hear. 

He was always full of mystery about his plans, sometimes 
throwing out hints of an armed rescue by means of a Jacobite 
mob ; and at other times dwelling on the necessity of caution, and 
secret corruption of persons in trust. Once, I remember, he pro- 
posed seriously a forged pardon and order from the King to let Mr. 
Forster go free. 

'If,' he said, 'it was a tragedy we were writing, I should say 
that no better plot could be devised than the escape of the prisoner, 
on the morning of his execution, by means of a forged pardon. 
But I doubt whether the difficulty of deceiving the Governor, and 
the uncertainty as to the proper form of signature — whether paper 
or parchment, how to be worded, how sent to the prison — would not 
prove fatal to the design.' 

And so with many other notable designs. 

One day, however, he informed me that he had considered the 
subject carefully, and was of opinion that steps should be taken to 
throw suspicion, after the escape, in a false direction ; that he had 
already learned, from a certain source, of a sea captain of Wapping 
reported to be an extraordinary villain and most treacherous dog, 
making it his practice to bargain with gentlemen, highwaymen, cut- 
throats, and others, who might desire to change their native air for 
that of France, for their conveyance across the water ; and, having 
gotten their money, to betray them for more pay — if he could get 
it — to the messengers and officers. 

'What,' I asked, 'have we to do with such a desperate villain as 
this ?' 

'Why,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'remember that we know not when we 
may make our attempt. We will go to him, the first thing ; we 
will open the business, naming no names ; we will prepare him, 
beforehand, to expect a great personage.' 

I could not understand why. If the man was a villain, why not 
go to an honest man, who would truly serve us '? 

' As for my plans,' he went on, ' they are not perfected ; nor can 
they be until I have seen his honour and inspected the ground. 
But we cannot begin too soon, nor can we neglect the least precaution.' 

I knew nothing, as yet, of his plans ; because, as I have already 
said, what he had opened to me seemed like the foolish story of a 
play. However, I listened to him in the matter of this Wapping 
journey (which, although such as would only be thought of by one 
who had read many plays, turned out, in the long-run, useful), and 
we rode thither in a glass-coach. I dressed in my best, concerning 
which Mr. Hilyard was very particular, wishing the fellow we had 
to do with to take me for a lady of the highest quality. 



238 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

We came, after a long drive through streets more crowded and 
noisy, and with more tumult, fighting, and blasphemy, than I could 
have believed possible, to the river-bank, to a place called Wapping 
Old Stairs, where we left the coach and took boat (if the people in 
the streets swore horribly, those on the river swore much worse), 
and were rowed to a small vessel moored in the middle of the 
stream. The captain, who was on deck, had a chair rigged to a 
yard and lowered for me, while Mr. Hilyard clambered up the 
ladder. A most sinister and evil-looking villain he was, with a 
great scar across his face ; but he bowed, and tried to smile and to 
look loyal and faithful. Judas himself, or Mr. Patten, had not a 
more sinister countenance. 

' Here is the lady, captain,' said Mr. Hilyard ; ' and not to beat 
about the bush, seeing that we are all honest people here, and of 
the right sort — ■ — ' 

' Truly,' said the captain, with a most forbidding grin, ' of the 
right sort.' 

' Let us come to the point. We will say that her ladyship hath 
a husband, brother, father, or lover, anxious, for reasons of his own, 
to change the air. As for his lordship's — I mean his honour's — 
name, it matters not. The question is, first, for how much you will 
take this gentleman abroad and land him on the coast of France.' 

' I will take him, because of his opinions,' said the honourable 
captain, ' for a hundred and fifty guineas.' 

Heavens ! what a price for taking a gentleman across the 
Channel ! 

' Captain,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' your hand upon it. It is a cheap 
bargain. This, your ladyship,' turning to me, ' is a man of honour. 
Of that I am informed by friends in whom I can trust. We may 
rely upon him. He is a man of honour. It may be a month or 
even more, before we are ready. But here is our man. Lucky we 
are to find a man of honour ready to our hand.' 

The captain protested that all the world knew him for a man of 
honour ; but that, as for waiting, he should require ten guineas a 
week for keeping the hoy in readiness. 

'You shall have it, captain,' said Mr. Hilyard readily. 'You 
shall have it. A moderate sum, indeed, for such a man as yourself. 
But you must be always aboard, for we may drop down at any hour 
of the day or night.' 

' He is Judas Iscariot the Second, or perhaps his great-grandson,' 
said Mr. Hilyard, when wo were ashore. ' We can go home again 
remembering that this villain will presently make another bargain 
for his own advantage, by which he hopes, when he has secured his 
money from the escaping prisoner, to get a second and perhaps a 
higher price,' 

' How will it servo us ?' 

' In this way, that they will first look for his honour, when we 
bare got him out, at Wapping, which will give us time.' 

This seemed very ingenious but moanwhilo, how was he to b« 



LADY COW PER. 339 

got out ? And here Mr. Hilyard could only talk about his plans, 
which were as yet, he said, only half -hatched ; but he thought of 
nothing else day or night, and went each evening, in order to seek 
inspiration, to the theatre. I blamed him not. It was my brother, 
not he, who was in Newgate ; and surely no one could have been 
more generous and faithful than he during all that long and terrible 
ride to London. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

LADY COWPEE. 

Lord Cowper's great town-house was in Lincoln's Inn Fields, at 
the north-west corner. I went in the morning, hoping to find there 
my cousin (who was now a Lady of the Chamber to the Princess 
of Wales) free from visitors, and more open to hear my case ; and 
by the advice of Mr. Hilyard, who accompanied me, we hired a 
glass-coach for the visit, so that the impudent lacqueys and footmen 
should not fail to pay us the respect which they withhold whenever 
the outward appearance of a visitor doth not proclaim his quality 
and rank. Certainly, I think these London varlets are a disgrace 
to the manners of the City. It matters little what such gentry 
think of one ; but it was of great importance not to be thrust aside 
and kept waiting in the hall among the jeers and ribaldry of this 
people, who are thus badly behaved because their masters do not 
correct them as they should. Never were any stable-boys, for in- 
stance, better mannered than Tom's, because he always went among 
them, as he went among his dogs, whip in hand. 

There was a little crowd about the door, consisting partly of 
tradesmen waiting to see the housekeeper or her ladyship, partly 
of footmen in livery, and partly of persons, perhaps gentlemen, 
looking for the most part anxious and decayed, waiting to present 
petitions, or to have audience of the Lord Chancellor. Mr. Hilyard 
left me in the coach, and conversed for a few minutes with a great, 
insolent-looking fellow in my lord's livery. I saw him put money 
(it was a whole guinea) into the man's hand. 

' Tell my lady,' he said, ' her cousin desires to have speech with 
her.' 

Upon this the man went away, but presently returned, and Mr. 
Hilyard informed me that her ladyship would see her cousin. 

It was still so early that Lady Cowper was sitting in her break- 
fast-room, three children playing round her on the floor. I desire 
before everything else to testify that, though my cousin, Lady 
Cowper, was the wife of a great Whig Lord and Minister of State, 
nothing could have been kinder than her reception of me, whose 
brother she could not but regard as a principal cause of all the 
trouble, and nothing more friendly than her continued interest in 
my case, and thoughtful advice. At this time she was about thirty 
years of age, having been born at Chipwell, in Durham, in the year 
1685, and was married in 1708 to Lord Cowper, then Keeper of the 
Great Seals (shs died seven years later of a, broken heart, three 



240 DO ROTH Y FORSTEE. 

months after hor hnsband, and is now, I cannot doubt, having been 
so good a woman, far happier than she ever hoped to be). This 
virtuous and amiable woman showed in her lovely face the virtues 
and graces with which she was so bountifully endowed. Her 
features were straight and regular ; her eyes full and soft — my own 
still shed tears, even to think of her. When I entered the room she 
rose and came to meet me. 

' Cousin !' she said, giving me both her hands, 'I have not learned 
your name, but I give you welcome. Sit down and tell me what is 
your trouble — you have great trouble written on your face, my 
dear — and how I can best help you.' 

But at these kind words — almost the first I had heard since the 
trouble began — my courage gave way, and I fell into a passion of 
crying and sobbing. Yet I had not cried once, except with my 
Lord Crewe, since Mr. Hilyard brought me the dreadful news. She 
took my hands in hers and kissed me, crying with me, I think. 

1 Tell me, my dear,' she said presently, ' tell me, if you can, who 
you are.' 

' Alas !' I replied, ' I am Dorothy Forster.' 

' What ?' she said, her eyes full of compassion. ' You are my 
beautiful cousin Dorothy ? My dear, I have heard of you : like 
poor Lady Crewe, whom this trouble has killed, you could find no 
one good enough for you in the north, and must needs wait for a 
Prince. My poor child ! I cannot say that I am glad to see you, 
for, indeed, this is a most grievous and terrible business. Yet, try 
to keep up your heart while we consider what may be done. In the 
first place, there is no hurry, we have time before us : my lord says 
that the trials of the Peers are certain to come first, but we cannot 
tell when they will come on. As for your brother Tom — I have 
seen him, and I wished him to come here often, but he would never 
pay his court to ladies, and preferred his Jacobite coffee-house — if 
be were tried to-day or to-morrow, in the present temper of the 
Court and the town, there can be no doubt of the sentence. You 
will gain by waiting. But, oh ! my dear, consider his offence. He 
was the General of the English forces. He is not an ordinary rebel. 
He is as bad as the Earl of Mar or Lord Kenmure. Do not suffer 
him to be hopeful, but rather let him prepare for the worst. And 
do you, Dorothy, work your best for him meanwhile.' 

Then she asked me where I was lodging, and promised to procure 
for me, if she could, an order to see Tom in Newgate. All visitors, 
except such as had permission, were as yet refused admission ; but 
this restriction was speedily broken through in favour of those who 
had money wherewith to bribe the officers of the prison. 

' I know not,' she went on, ' what may be the mind of the King, 
but I am very sure that the Ministers will desire that the examples 
shall be as few as possible. Why, why did not Tom Forster follow 
the example of so many others, and escape by the way ?' 

I knew not that any escaped on the way. 

'I suppose,' I replied, ' that his honour was concerned. Others 
might run away, but not the General who surrendered.' 



LADY COIVPER. 241 

' Nay, but the King's honour is not concerned in granting a 
pardon to the leaders. Yet it is early to talk of these things. 
Now, child, come to see me often : this week I am in waiting : I 
have told the Princess already that poor Tom is my cousin : but of 
course she can do nothing — yet. My dear, he should have escaped. 
Oh ! they should all have escaped ! I have no patience with the 
punctilio of men who led so crazy an enterprise. Why, if the 
threatened end were not so terrible, they would all be the laughing- 
stock of the country. Dorothy, my dear Dorothy, why did you let 
them do it ?' 

' Indeed,' I said, ' we believed what we were told : and, alas ! the 
women were worse than the men. We were told — Colonel Oxbrough 
and Captain G-ascoigne said so — that the whole country was with 
us : the army would mutiny : the people would rally round us — 
what did they not say ?' 

' As for these agitators, at least,' said Lady Cowper gravely, ' I 
trust that full justice will be done.' 

' Yet all the way to London,' I told her, ' we heard nothing but 
curses on the Prince and all his party, and the Pope. Not once in 
all that long ride did we find a man who prayed for his return.' 

Then she asked me how I came to London, and when she heard 
that it was on horseback, through all the dreadful weather, she 
threw up her hands in wonder. 

' Is there any,' she cried, ' but a brave Northumberland girl who 
would take such a ride ? But who came with you, Dorothy ?' 

Should I tell ? Yet I knew she would not betray me. 

' My brother's steward ; formerly his tutor — Mr. Hilyard. Oh ! 
Lady Cowper, hush ! let me whisper. He, too, was with them, but 
he escaped. To bring me to London he dressed himself like a 
blacksmith, and me like a country-wench. Now he waits for me at 
your door, disguised as a grave physician. I have placed his life in 
your hands ! But, without him, I am helpless indeed.' 

' His life is safe with me, my child ; but I would willingly converse 
with a rebel who thus puts his head in the lion's mouth.' 

She rang a hand-bell, and ordered a footman to bring to her the 
gentleman who was waiting for me. 

Mr. Hilyard came, wearing a face of the greatest importance and 
learning. 

' Pray, sir,' said Lady Cowper, ' pardon me. I am anxious con- 
cerning my cousin's health. She hath suffered great weariness of 
body and trouble of mind of late. Your learned counsel, I trust, 
will not be wanting in the case. You are doubtless a member of 
the College of Physicians.' 

' I had the honour of studying medicine, my lady, at the renowned 
University of Leyden,' he replied, without a blush, though the 
falsehood was so great. 

1 Would you be willing to take counsel with my own physician ? 
I find my cousin's cheek pale, and her colour cornea and goes. 
These are signs which should not be neglected.' 

•Most willingly, madam, will I consult with your physician. 

1R 



242 DOROTHY FOES TER. 

But your ladyship need be under no pain in Miss Dorothy's case. 
She suffers from that complaint for which the ancients did worship 
Angerona Dea, videlicet, Fear : but in her case it is fear on account 
of others. It is a disorder which affects the brains only of the 
more noble (the Muses, for example, are said to be melancholy 
because their followers are poor). For the remedy of this disorder 
there is, first, the removal of the cause, so that the liberation of his 
honour, Mr. Thomas Forster the younger, and that of the Earl of 
Derwentwater, will, I pledge my professional skill, leave this lady 
as comely of face and as cheerful of aspect as before. But if that 
may not yet be done, I would prescribe hope, the promise of her 
friends to help, daily prayer, and certain precepts of philosophy, 
with the use of herbs, such as betony, a sprig of marigold always in 
her broth, and the flowers of Carduus benedictus. Other simples 
there are, with which I will not weary your ladyship.' 

'Indeed, sir, my cousin is fortunate in having so learned a 
physician.' 

She smiled as she said this, but Mr. Hilyard bowed low, puffing 
out his cheeks, and looking so learned and skilful a physician that 
even I was almost deceived. 

Then she dismissed me, promising faithfully to keep my case in 
mind, and to say what she could to help. 

1 Do not forget, however,' she added, ' that I have the chief of 
my own family, Mr. Clavering of Callalee, in Newgate, with many 
other friends and cousins. To think that the poor old gentleman, 
now over seventy, should have thought to take up arms ! Yet, like 
Tom Forster and all the rest, his estates are almost ruined by free 
hospitality and feasting. Yes, I know, Lady Crewe would have 
given all back to Tom, and so the Forsters of Bamborough might 
have begun again in greater wealth and state than before. It was 
her dream, poor lady ; and foolish Tom must needs break it to 
pieces and kill the dreamer. Why, I know not, except that he 
hoped to repair his fortunes by another and quicker way, yet full 
of danger. Well ; drink, feasting, horse-racing and sport, have 
ruined more Northumberland gentlemen of late than all the Scots 
» cross the Border in the good old days. Farewell, brave child ! 
We must do our best to remove the cause, most learned sir, of my 
cousin's sick looks, and then we shall want neither betony, nor 
marigold, nor — nor the other remedy — what was it ?' 

' That most noble and sovereign herb, my lady, called Carduus 
benedictus.' 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE UNFORTUNATE ME. TAUL. 

In three or four days Lady Cowper sent for me again to visit her 
in the morning. She had to tell me that I might now visit my 
brother in Newgate, for they suffered as many as pleased to visit 
the prisoners. But that as for the physician, my friend — ' Child,' 
«he aaid, smiling, ' you ought not to have told me. Pray forget 



THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL. 243 

that I have the man's secret. Yet was I glad to have seen and 
conversed with a creature so honest and so faithful. Doth he ask 
no reward for his services ?' 

How could he, seeing I had nothing in the world to give him, 
nor had Tom neither ? And the upshot of the whole business to 
him would be little short of ruin, seeing that his occupation was 
gone. Lady Crewe dead ; Tom, if pardoned or reprieved, probably 
without any means ; I powerless to help ; his own youth gone (he 
was now at least thirty-seven) — what would the poor man do in 
this hard world to get him a living ? 

'Nay,' said Lady Cowper ; 'a gentleman of his gifts can never 
starve, though it be long before he finds another patron like Tom, 
and another place to suit his genius so well as the one now in 
jeopardy. But, my dear, caution him carefully that he go not near 
Newgate yet, permission or not. Listen : it is whispered that the 
evidence against the prisoners will be found in the prison itself — I 
mean, cousin, that wherever there are conspirators there are traitors ; 
and when it comes to danger for the neck, honour and faith have 
but a poor chance. Ask me no questions, my dear. None of the 
gentlemen, our cousins, we may be sure, would consent to save their 
lives by such villainy. I only warn thee. There may be informers 
to turn King's evidence. This physician — vrhoever he may be — 
lord ! I have no memory — if you even told t.ne, I have cleen and 
altogether forgotten where he comes from— Leyden was it, or 
Muscovy ? — let him not venture within those walls ; and, if he 
value his learned neck, bid him go no more abroad in the streets 
than is necessary, and if he can disguise his face, let him do so. 
Informers have one fault : they will still be showing zeal ; and, 
perhaps, to secure a rebel at large might be thought by them more 
praiseworthy than to convict a rebel in prison. As for Tom,' she 
went on, ' if he is tried, make him plead guilty. It is his only 
chance — since he missed the chance of running away on the road. 
My dear, if Lady Crewe were living, he certainly would never be 
tried at all.' 

She said this with so much meaning, that one could not but 
understand her. 

'Perhaps,' I said, 'Lord Crewe might be willing to do for 
his wife's nephew what his wife would have done, had sha 
lived.' 

She smiled, and looked as if she would like to know more. Then 
she said : 

' If that is so, cousin, keep thy secret carefully. Tell me no more ; 
or if you do tell me, forget that you have told me. But best not. 
Has anything yet been done ? But do not tell me. A woman 
whose husband is the Lord Chancellor must not know these things. 
Yet my memory is very short. Oh ! cousin, tell me or not, as seems 
you best ; but, my dear, be prudent. Do not hurry, yet waste no 
time.' 

I told her then, after reminding her that my brother's life 
depended on her secrecy, tnat nothing ts-as yet done, but that we 

if; o 



244 DORO THY F0R5TER. 

had command of a vast great sum of money, and Mr. Hilyard was 
engaged in devising a plan which should be safe and expeditious. 

'Mr. Hilyard,' she said, 'may be an ingenious man ; but in such 
a case as this an ounce of woman's wit, I take it, is worth a pound 
of man's. No doubt he could tell us how men have broken prison 
since the first prison-house was erected by some Greek king ; that 
is the way men cheat us, and because they know history, they think 
they can do everything ; here, however, is no case for the boring of 
holes through the wall. Remember, my dear, the old story of 
Jupiter when he was in love, and how he got into the tower of the 
nymph. You know the pretty, naughty fable ? By a shower of 
gold, my dear. Take your shower of gold in your own hand and 
try. Alas ! how one's tongue carries one away ! What has the wife 
of the Lord Chancellor to do with showers of gold and Greek 
damsels ? Yet, my cousin, I would to heaven that Tom was gotten 
clean away ! I told the Princess of your long march to London 
through the snow and frost, and she wept. Do you think your 
Prince would have wept ?' 

Now this talk set me a-thinking. For Mr. Hilyard was all in the 
clouds with his great plans, and talked sometimes as if he was about 
to raise an army, or to besiege Newgate ; and at other times as if 
he was inventing the plot of some mighty drama, in which the right 
people always came on the stage at the right time. Yet these vast 
projects were, I suppose, but the preliminaries to some more prac- 
tical scheme. As for what I thought and what I attempted, you 
shall hear presently. 

When I repeated to Mr. Hilyard some of this conversation, and 
especially that part of it which related to King's evidence, he fell 
into so violent a wrath that I thought he would have had some sort 
of fit. For, surely, he declared, there can be no more dreadful 
wickedness than thus to betray the men with whom you have sworn 
fidelity. We wrote out lists, so far as we knew them, of all the 
prisoners brought to London, and we could think of none capable 
of playing so mean, so treacherous, so contemptible a part. Yet we 
could not choose but take Lady Cowper's warning seriously, and 
Mr. Hilyard, with grave face, promised to run no risks that ha 
could avoid. 

In spite of his promise he presently fell into so great a danger 
that he got a terrible fright, and for some time lost confidence in 
his disguise, and would not venture abroad until nightfall. The 
way of it was this. Some prisoners being brought to London from 
Scotland, he must needs, being assured, in his own conceit, against 
recognition, go stand with the crowd outside the gates of Newgate 
to see them enter. It was mostly a Jacobite crowd, collected to 
cheer the unhappy men, but there were Whigs among them. Now, 
as Mr. Hilyard, in his sober physician's dress, stood among the rest,' 
some one tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned and saw that 
it was no other than the Reverend Mr. William Paul, the clergyman 
who joined the rebels in Lancashire, and escaped throuob. having 
lioen sent away with letters. He had put off his cassock, a»d now" 



THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL. 245 

dressed like a plain citizen of London, was come to see the dismal 
show. 

' Ho ! brother,' he whispered. ' Do you not know me ? Let us 
go drink a glass together.' 

' What !' said Mr. Hilyard. ' It is Mr. Paul ! Did you recognise 
me in this disguise ?' 

' Recognise you ? Of course I did, for all your great wig and 
your sober looks.' 

While they were thus conversing there stepped from the doors of 
the prison an officer armed with a truncheon, who laid his hand 
upon the unfortunate Mr. Paul's shoulder. 

'In the King's name !' he said, 'I have a warrant to arrest the 
body of the Eeverend William Paul.' 

So saying, though the crowd pushed to and fro, and groaned, 
none dared attempt a rescue, and in a moment the poor man was 
haled within the prison- doors. (He was one of those afterwards 
executed.) You may be sure that Mr. Hilyard was not long in re- 
treating, and for a few days he did not dare so much as to come to 
my lodgings. 

I thought continually of Lady Cowper's words concerning 
woman's wit, but came not for a long while into any reasonable 
way of following her advice, for no other cause, I verily believe, 
than that I could not at all understand how to spend the twenty 
thousand pounds which Lord Crewe was ready to give us. When, 
however, I began to go to Newgate (of which I will tell immedi- 
ately), I distinguished a turnkey or officer who belonged especially 
to the Governor's house ; and, partly at first in the hope that to 
conciliate this fellow might soften Tom's lot in prison, I began to 
give him money. 

He was a cunning-looking rascal, about fifty-five years of age, 
with a foxy face and red twinkling eyes, which from the first fol- 
lowed me about as if I seemed likely to offer bribes. His fingers 
were curly from the taking of fees, while as for pity towards the 
poor unfortunate people in ward, his heart, I am sure, was nothing 
in the world but a lump of stone ; he looked on every prisoner as 
worth so many guineas, and lamented the execution of a profitable 
criminal much as a physician laments the death of a profitable 
patient. Finding how greedy he was, and keen after money, I 
began to consider if I could not use him for some more considerable 
purpose than a careful a+tention to Tom, for whom, as he had his 
own man with him, he could do but little, even if he desired. 
Therefore I increased my gifts, dropping each day something hand- 
some into his palm, and pretending to be grateful for his (supposed) 
kindness to my brother. 

'Such goodness,' I said to him, 'deserves a better reward, which 
it shall certainly obtain if the General steps out of prison. To be 
sure, if one were to find a willing and a friendly heart, that were 
easy. Ah ! how gladly would one reward such a person ! Think 
of it, Mr. Jonas !' That was his name. 

He grinned and nodded, and said he should not forget what J 



246 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

bad said. Then every day that he saw me he would look at me in. 
quiriDgly, as if to wonder why I did not use his services ; and if he 
got a chance of speaking to me unheard, he would whisper : 

' A friendly and a willing heart, your ladyship.' 

This was all my secret. While Mr. Hilyard was concocting great 
schemes and plots, I was simply trying whether a common servant 
of the gaol would not do the business for us just as well as if we 
were to set agoing the whole machinery of a five-act comedy with 
Spanish intrigues and French surprises. 

And as for this fellow, it was perfectly plain to me that, though 
perhaps he might play me false in the end, he was willing to open 
his ears wide at the mere mention of the words 'reward' or 'bribe.' 
Therefore I kept him on and off, saying nothing more at the time, 
but waiting for a favourable opportunity. 

The time was not yet ripe, for outside, not only in London, but 
over the whole country, there was such an uproar that one would 
have thought it was nothing less than the defeat of the Spanish 
Armada, instead of a handful of their own misguided countrymen 
rising inopportunely in a righteous cause. The bells of the City 
churches were kept a-clanging ; bands of men paraded the streets 
with favours, shouting and challenging the Jacks to come forth and 
show themselves ; there was fighting, drinking, profane swearing, 
lighting of bonfires, and brandishing of warming-pans all day long, 
and, I dare say, all night as well. As for me, I saw little of it ; 
but once, going to the prison in a coach, we were stopped by a 
dozen half -drunken men, who pressed round the doors, swearing 
that I must drink King George's health, or kiss them all. So I 
drank to the King, wishing in secret that it might choke his 
Majesty, and they laughed and bade the coachman drive on. Why, 
what a poor cause that must be which wants such swaggerers and 
drunken reprobates to defend it ! The hatred of the people against 
us was kept up, and aggravated as well, by the sermons of the 
London clergymen, especially in Nonconformist chapels ; and, 
above all, by the Whig papers, which continually hurled dirt at the 
unfortunate prisoners and the cause for which they suffered. Lady 
Cowper bade me pay no heed to these things, because, she said, 
nobody regards what the journals say. Yet it was dreadful to rend 
the things that were written about the wives and friends of the 
prisoners. We were assailed as tigresses— but, indeed, I cannot 
repeat what they said ; they also pleased themselves by enumerating 
the possessions and country seats of the rebels, which they confis- 
cated, sold, and distributed long before the prisoners were tried at 
all. And they would not so much as listen to a word of mercy. 

The first time I went to Newgate, it was expecting nothing short 
of underground dungeons, chains, gloom, and misery. Yet when I 
was admitted, the warden (no other than this same Jonas), after 
taking my name, and telling me that the General was lying in tho 
Governor's house with a few other gentlemen, led the way to a 
large and comfortable room on the first floor, which was hia 



THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL 2^7 

chamber. The only inconvenience about the room w„ tihat it 
served as bedroom, dining-room, and parlour all in one. There was 
no clank of chains, and nothing to remind one that it was a prison, 
save the feeling that between the house and the street was an ante- 
room, with turnkeys and a strong door. 

It was in the forenoon ; Tom was sitting beside a bright coal-fire, 
his wig and hat lying on the bed, and his head in a warm linen 
nightcap. Opposite to him sat Mr. Patten, and both were smoking 
tobacco, early as it was. But they were silent, and they looked sad. 
As for the chaplain, who had made so brave a show riding among 
the prisoners, he was now pale of cheek and heavy of eye. 

' Dorothy !' cried Tom, springing to his feet. ' Why, I knew 
that she would come to London after me ! Did I not say so, parson ? 
'Tis a brave girl. Kiss me, lass. So — now what news ? What 
will Lady Crewe do ? What doth her ladyship say ? Will she 
among her friends ' 

'Alas, Tom!' I said ; 'Lady Crewe is dead. She died two months 
ago, after a kind of fit, or convulsion, for fear that you would be 
taken. Tom, 'twas pure love for you that killed her.' 

At this dreadful intelligence Tom turned quite white, and fell 
back into his chair. 

' Lady Crewe dead ? Then,' he looked round him helplessly, 
' what will become of us all ?' 

' Nay, Tom,' I replied. ' We know not yet. But keep up heart, 
brother. There is time enough yet to consider ; and all are agreed 
that, where so many are concerned, mercy must be shown. For 
shame's sake they cannot but pardon some of these gentlemen.' 

' Why,' said Tom, ' some they may. But I was their General. 
What do you say to that, Dorothy? Unless they pardon all, I 
doubt if the General will escape.' 

' And I,' said Mr. Patten, shaking his head gloomily, ' was, alas ! 
his honour's chaplain. I doubt they will make an example of me 
for the encouragement of my cloth. What do they say outside 
about me, Miss Dorothy ?' 

' Indeed, Mr. Patten,' I told him, ' I know little of what they say, 
for as yet I have seen no one but my cousin, Lady Cowper.' 

' Miss Dorothy,' he said earnestly, ' pray, you that art so tender 
of heart, when you speak of his honour to her ladyship, couple my 
name with his. Say the General and his chaplain. Do not suffer 
them to be separated. The General with his chaplain. If we have 
sinned together — nay, I deny not that I exhorted him continually 
that he was on the Lord's side — we have been taken together. Why, 
vour honour, Lady Cowper is the wife of the Chancellor — no less. 
If sh<j pleases she can set us free. But it would cut your generous 
heart to the quick, I know it, if I were left to hang while you 
marched out free.' 

' It would,' said Tom. ' Fear not, friend ; we shall go out 
together.' 

' As yet,' I told them, ' Lady Cowper can do nothing. Nobody 
can say a word. What she will be able to do afterwards, I know not. 



248 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Remember that she is a great lady at Court, and a Lady of the 
Bed-Chamber to the Princess of Wales, and must not seem to 
screen his Highness's friends too much.' 

Mr. Patten was, it was plain, in a great scare, now that he actually 
found himself in prison with a prospect of being hanged. I have 
always been truly thankful that I said nothing at the time of what 
the Bishop was willing to do ; else Mr. Patten (the villain) would 
have heard and blabbed, and so all been spoiled. Perhaps Tom in 
his cups might have blurted it out. So I asked Tom only if he was 
comfortable, and^if I could do aught for him. 

' Why,' said Tom, ' as for comfort, I suppose whatever you give 
him, a bird in a cage, or a rat in a trap, is never so comfortable as a 
bird in the air or a rat in the ditch. For those who have money 
there is some comfort, as you see ; a quiet place at least, where one 
can take a pipe of tobacco in peace. As for my money, 'tis almost 
at an end ; look you to it, Dorothy, if you can.' 

I told him that I could find money for him, but that at present 
he must not ask from whom it came, because I wished him not as 
yet to know that it came from Lord Crewe. 

' So long as it comes,' he said, ' I care not where it comes from. 
They made me pay twenty-five guineas for privilege not to wear 
irons — they are making great fortunes out of us, these turnkeys and 
wardens — twenty-five guineas, and as much for Mr. Patten here — 
else would his legs be clinking as he went ' — Mr. Patten shook his 
head and sighed. ' Ten guineas I paid not to be put in the common 
side ; and as much for Mr. Patten — else he would be among the 
poor devils who have got no money, and pig together like sows in a 
sty — now he hath accommodation with no more than two or three 
at most in a bed, and the Press Yard to walk in with the gentlemen, 
and the Ordinary to converse with.' 

' A worthy man,' said Mr. Patten, ' but obstinate on the vice of 
rebellion, and perhaps over-hot for the Protestant Succession.' 

' Five pounds a week they make us pay for lodging in the 
Governor's house, and another five pounds for a room to myself ; 
and what with garniture here, garniture there, fees everywhere — 
hang me if the wealth of London would stand a whole winter in 
this place ! But perhaps they won't keep us here the whole winter ' 

Mr. Patten groaned aloud. 

' As for company,' Tom went on, ' there are all our old friends. 
Charles Radclilfe, Ned Swinburne and his brother Charles, Perry 
Widdrington, Jack Hall, Dick Stokoe, and all we used to drink 
with ; we can drink and sing together as much as ever, but there 
does not seem much stomach for it, because, Dorothy, we can no 
longer ride together : and as for other company, the prison is always 
full of it.' 

He then went on to tell me how these friends of ours were 
treated. The prison consists, first, of Avhat is called the ' Common 
Side,' with the ' Lions' Den ' and the ' Middle Dark,' where the 
baser sort are confined. I know not what must be the sufferings of 
the poor creatures who, for lack of money, aro thrust into theat 



THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL. 249 

dreadful places, which ars, to begin with, filled with men and 
women of the vilest kind, creatures without (as it would seem) one 
spark left of virtue, religion, or decency. Some of those who were 
in that dreadful place were my own friends, the gallant lads I had 
known f rom childhood. They stayed not long ; if the Jacobites of 
London would not fight, they could, and did, find money, and 
before long every gentleman in the gaol found such accommodation 
as was possible to be obtained in the place. For those who had 
money might buy the right of using the Press Yard by day, with 
beds in the rooms round it belonging to the Governor. As for 
scenes of despair, I know not what they might suffer on the Common 
Side, but in the Press Yard into which I looked, there seemed 
nothing but jollity, drinking, and mirth. Is it possible, I asked 
myself, that men who are in peril of being sentenced to death can face 
the danger with hearts so callous ? Why, here was a knot of men in 
a drinking-box as unconcerned as if they were mere visitors, or the 
place was a common tavern. Some were playing cards, some were 
talking vehemently, some quarrelling, some playing tennis, some 
smoking tobacco, some lounging against doorposts ; but as for any 
decent, God-fearing behaviour, that I think one might look for in 
vain. All day long they spent in the Press Yard, unless at meals ; 
at ten o'clock they were locked in their rooms, where sometimes 
two or three had to sleep on the same bed, until eight in the morn • 
ing. 

' It is a wretched place,' said Tom ; ' and an insult to a gentleman 
to send him here. Why, I expected at least such a respect due to 
my position as to be sent to the Tower. But no ; here I am, as you 
see, shut up with the rank and file, as one may say.' 

' Yet you are in good company,' I said ; ' since all your old friends 
are with you.' 

' Why am I not with the lords in the Tower ?' he repeated. 
' Surely the General of the army might be treated with as much 
consideration as any nobleman in his command. I take it ill, 
Dorothy, I assure you. Some private enemy hath interposed to rob 
me of the honour due to me.' 

I thought that when it came to getting him out, I would rather 
he was in Newgate than in the Tower ; but I did not say so. 

' As for my trial,' he said, ' I care not when it comes on ; I am 
assured that I have friends enough to pack a jury. As for that, 
they will find it difficult to get any jury to convict. I do not fear, 
Dorothy. Then it will be our turn next, and we will let these 
gentlemen have a taste of the Press Yard.' 

I believe that his friends were right in so advising him ; no jury 
could have been found to agree in a verdict, unless it was made up 
of Nonconformists. But his face and the faces of all lengthened 
when they found that they would not be tried by a jury at all. 
When the Government went back to trial by jury, the verdict in 
the cases of Ferguson and Innes, Tildesley and Towneley, in which 
the evidence was plain, and yet the prisoners were acquitted, showed 
how much a jury could be tru&ted. 



2 So DOROTHY FORSTEH. 

' And where,' asked Tom, ' is honest Tony ?' 

'Ah !' said Mr. Patten, ' hath our good Antony escaped ? or was 
he among those taken to Liverpool ?' 

He looked, although Mr. Hilyard bore such testimony to his 
friendliness, as if he would rather hear that he was among the 
prisoners in the north. I could never believe of this man that he 
wished Mr. Hilyard well. 

' He is safe,' I replied ; ' and I hope we shall hear of his doing a 
good stroke for us as soon as he can get about without f ear.' 

Here again I rejoiced, afterwards, that I did not let Mr. Patten 
know where his enemy was to be found. 

' I would he were with me,' said Tom. ' I miss him more than 
enough. Without Tony a bowl of whisky punch seems only half 
complete. But one would not have him taken neither ; while as for 
singing — I doubt if I shall ever hear another song again.' 

' Nay, sir,' said his chaplain, ' cheer up. The small and unimpor- 
tant persons, such as myself and Mr. Hilyard, if he be caught, will 
certainly be hanged, drawn, and quartered. We can expect no less. 
But for the quality, who have friends and influence in high places, 
why, you may be sure to expect favour. As for us — well, let us be 
thankful that we have done our duty in the world. He who dies 
for his country ' 

' Pshaw !' said Tom. ' Thou must for ever be talking about 
dying. Hang it, Mr. Patten, canst thou not drink about like a 
Christian, and leave dying till thou art sentenced ?' 

' Ah !' he replied, with a deep sigh. ' Mr. Hilyard is a happy 
man. Will he not, Miss Dorothy, who can play so many parts, fit 
upon himself a disguise and visit his old friends ?' 

' Nay,' I said, ' Mr. Hilyard is safest without these walls.' 

'You did not say,' he went on, ' where he is now in hiding.' 

I do not know whether he was already contemplating his great 
villainy, but I mistrusted the man, and so made no reply. 

' All the way to London,' Tom went on, ' we were cheered by the 
whisper that we should be rescued on the road. Why, where were 
all the loyal gentlemen we had heard so much of ? A hundred 
gallant fellows with sword and pistol could have done it. Yet they 
sat still. To-day it was to be in the evening ; in the evening, next 
day ; so they cheated us. At last we were to be rescued in the very 
London streets ; yet there was not a voice in our favour, but curses 
upon us all the way, as if we had not a friend in the City.' 

They rose on the assurance that there were thousands to join 
them ; they rode contentedly south, looking daily for a rescue by 
their friends ; even in London streets they reckoned on escape. 
Ah ! what a Fool's Paradise was this, in which we had all lived so 
long ! And how wise was I become after my journey among the 
common sort of England, and all the talk I had heard of Pope and 
of Pretender ! Methinks, though the voice of the people be fickle 
and variable, they reckon foolishly who reckon without it. 



A NOBLE PROJECT. 251 



CHAPTEE XXXII. 

A NOBLE PROJECT. 

I have now to tell of a project, daring and yet most simple, which 
was set on foot at this time, and unknown to any of those most 
concerned in it — Lady Derwentwater went to her dying day in 
ignorance of it. True it is that by the act and overruling will of 
Providence the design was frustrated, but I firmly believe it would 
have succeeded save for this misfortune. 

It was not hatched and invented by Mr. Hilyard, whose designs 
were truly ingenious, but magnificent, as becomes one who hath read 
the tragic pieces of Greece and Rome, and knows what a plot should 
be ; crooked also, full of surprises, dangers, and demanding the 
assistance of a great number of people, as is the case always with 
high tragedy. A simple contrivance was not, in so great a matter, 
worthy of consideration. The design of which I speak was due to 
Jenny Lee alone, who must have all the credit, though, in her 
present condition, the poor creature cannot, I am sure, feel any 
glory in this, or in any other scheme. You shall presently hear 
what it was. 

Mr. Hilyard, partly with a view of giving me what he called a 
just view of the noble art of acting, partly that he might lead me to 
regard Jenny with favour, and partly hoping to divert my mind 
from the continual contemplation of misfortune, persuaded me one 
evening to let him carry me to the play. A country-bred woman, 
who hath seen but one London theatre in her life, may without 
shame confess that it seemed to her like an enchanted island, and 
that, though the house was full of finely-dressed women and gallant 
gentlemen, she had no eyes for them, or for anything else, so long 
as the actors were on the stage. The piece performed was a very 
fine tragedy, namely, Dryden's ' Conquest of Granada,' in which, 
Mr. Hilyard told me, Nelly Gwynne, the mother of the Duke of 
St. Albans, formerly played the part now given to Jenny. I con- 
fess, further, that I was astonished beyond measure to see this girl, 
only a short while since a mere slip of a lady's-maid, with a curtsey 
to the ladies and a smile to the gentlemen who chucked her under 
the chin (as is a familiar though reprehensible custom in Northum- 
berland), and humble to all, should be transformed into a Princess 
moving with majesty and heroic courage among the most frightful 
scenes of war and death. 'Twas truly wonderful ! 

' There were many,' said Mr. Hilyard, when we came away, 'who 
could not listen to the play for looking at the lovely Incognita who 
was in the boxes ' — he meant me. ' Thus will beauty prevail eveD 
over the splendour of the stage. And when the beaux flocked out 
and made a lane to see you pass, you looked neither to the right 
nor to the left, bat passed through them all as cold and as heedless 
tts Diana.' 



253 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' Why,' I said, ' I was not thinking of them. Hoy should I ? 
My thoughts were with the unlucky Mahomet Boabdilen, the last 
King of Granada — and with Jenny — I mean ' 

' Ah ! Miss Dorothy, you will make poor Jenny happy only to 
let me tell her that she was able to turn your thoughts aside from 
the crowded house.' 

I said that if so small a thing could make her happy, she was very 
welcome to her happiness. 

' But it is not all,' he persisted. ' Jenny humbly desires to pay 
her respects to you. To the rest of the world she is the Tragedy 
Queen or the Comic Muse, but to you she bids me say she is, and 
will always be, your faithful servant.' 

' Bring her to me, then,' I replied, ' in Heaven's name !' 

So he left me at my lodging and went away, I suppose to sup 
with the actress among her friends. 

But next day, about ten in the forenoon, comes, if you please, 
Jenny herself, not in her own coach, because, I suppose, she did not 
desire to show off her newly-acquired splendour, but walking, and 
dressed, not richly, but plainly, though of good materials, and as a 
wealthy gentlewoman would desire to go abroad. 

She made me a deep reverence, and hoped I was in health, and 
that his honour my brother was as well as the unfortunate posture 
of his affairs admitted. In the old times she stood while she 
answered my questions ; but I could not think of allowing a person 
who could assume the splendid manners I had seen last night to 
stand, whatever her past history, wherefore I bade her take a chair 
and be welcome, and congratulated her on her success. 

' I thank your ladyship,' she replied ; ' I have succeeded far 
beyond my hopes. For at first I thought only to act in a barn, or 
at a fair, like the people I ran away with ; it was grand to put on 
fine clothes and to speak fine verses ; and it seemed delightful to be 
free and have no masters (yet now 1 have ten thousand). More 
than this I never thought to do. Yet you see me now at Drury 
Lane.' 

' Well, Jenny, I said, ' Mr. Hilyard is never tired of singing thy 
praises ; truly, for myself, I understand not acting ; yet I saw thee 
last night, and, believe me, child, I marvelled greatly at thy clever- 
ness, thy quickness, and thy courage. Enough said about Drury 
Lane ; tell me now, Jenny, about Mr. Frank Radcliffe.' 

She blushed a little — but one cannot expect many blushes of an 
actress ! 

' It is true,' she said, ' that I have always had power over Frank 
Radcliffe, and that of a kind which, except to those of my own 
people, must appear strange. Nay, I humbly confess that I deceived 
your ladyship at Dilston Hall when you surprised me exercising 
that power, because I was ashamed and afraid. Since then, how- 
ever, I practise upon him in this way no more. It needs not — 
Frank is in love with me, and will marry me, when he gets better 
of his cough.' 

' But Jenny, child, Mr. Frank Eadcliffo is a, gentleman.' 



A NOBLE PROJECT. 253 

' It is true, madam, and I am only an actress. But ho will marry 
me as soon as he gets better.' 

' And then he is a Papist ; and you are ' 

' I am a gipsy, madam. But he will marry me as soon as he gets 
better. At present he is troubled with a hacking cough that gives 
him no rest night or day. But this will pass wheu the warm 
weather comes. And so, your ladyship, if you please there need bo 
no more said on this head. For Fran 1 .: will marry me, Papist or 
Protestant, lady or gipsy, daughter of an earl or plain actress.' 

She looked so resolute and spoke with such decision, that I now 
perceived quite clearly my old Jenny was gone, and this girl before 
me was quite another kind of person. But that I had already 
suspected. 

'Wherefore, my lady,' she went on confidently, though in the 
old humble manner of speech, ' my respects paid and these things 
explained, I desire to lay before you, for your counsel, a project or 
design of mine own, whereby, if all goes well, we may effect my 
lord's escape.' 

' Oh, Jenny ! know you what your words mean ?' 

1 Quite well, madam. I am happy to see that your ladyship hath 
still something of the same interest in my lord as of old.' 

' Jenny,' I said, ' I know not if you are in earnest ; but of this 
be assured. My interest in Lord Derwentwater's welfare is as great 
as ever ; nor could it possibly be greater. If you have any rational 
project for his deliverance, in Heaven's name let me hear it ! If it 
be a secret, be sure that I would rather die a hundred deaths than 
reveal the thing. Tell me, Jenny, what it is.' 

Then, with many entreaties for secrecy, because the pit of Drury 
Lane was all for the Protestant Succession, and she would be hissed 
off the stage if the thing were known or even suspected to have 
come from her, she revealed her design. 

First, she assured me, and I readily believed her, that Frank 
Radcliffe would do anything she told him to do, being madly in 
love with her ; next, that the thing she wanted him to do was per- 
fectly easy, without much danger, and such a thing as would make 
the ears of those that heard it to tingle ; thirdly, that Frank had 
never ceased to lament his lot as an English gentleman who yet, for 
his religion's sake, was not allowed to take any part in the affairs 
of the nation, and condemned to a private and inglorious life ; and 
then, after this preamble, she opened her design to me. It was, in 
fact, nothing less than this. 

Frank Radcliffe, as everybody knows, was so much like his 
brother, save that he was somewhat taller of stature and thinner, 
that in the dusk, and among those who knew his brother imperfectly, 
he might very well pass for him. Jenny, therefore, proposed that, 
disguised by herself with a little painting of eyebrows and face, and 
some artful touches about nose and mouth, Frank should go with 
her, under some other name, to see his brother in the Tower. 
There was at this time little difficulty about the admission of visitors ; 
everybody was passed in who pleased ; they might even go into the 



254 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Bell Tower among the common people admitted by the -warden*, 
and so by a small bribe, or by entreaty, or by pretence of some 
kind or other, obtain admission. 

'Now hearken. Once in my lord's chamber,' said Jenny, 'I 
whip out my hare's foot and my sponge ; I quickly rub out the 
make-up of Frank and transfer it to my lord, giving him dark eye- 
brows, lips turned down, eyes longer than natural, and a mouth a 
little turned to one side (which disguises most wonderfully). I 
shorten his chin by a line of chalk ; I give his nose the least touch 
of red ; and I paint his cheek with a touch or two of colour which 
now it lacks. This done, they exchange perruques and coats. 
Frank takes my lord's long wig and scarlet coat, and he Frank's 
brown drugget and plain curled wig of black horsehair. Then we 
go away crying — I can cry so as to move all hearts ; but I am not 
certain yet what I will be, whether his nurse or his aunt, Lady 
Mary, or even his mother. My lord will come after me, wagging 
his head as they do on the stage — so — to show sympathy and 
Borrow, and Frank will be left behind. Then for a moment he will 
show his noble face at the door just to disarm suspicion, and so 
back again quickly, and sit down quiet till time hath passed suffi- 
cient for us to get out of the Tower and away — whither, we must 
settle when we have effected our escape.' 

This was truly a notable project. Did Frank know of it ? 
1 That,' said Jenny, ' is the trouble for us. At present he knows 
nothing, but is low in his spirits, thinking of his brother a prisoner, 
and himself little better, since his cough is so bad. I fear as yet to 
tell him, lest it make him feverish and anxious to be up and about, 
whereas he ought at present to be resting and getting well.' 

So for the present we said no more upon that head, except that 
Frank was not to be told until his cough was better. 

' As for that,' said Jenny, ' the physicians do no good with him, 
and an hour of my art is worth fifty of theirs. If I were with him 
always I could cure him of his cough, or of anything. Alas ! Miss 
Dorothy, you know not what this power of mine can do for him.' 

' Jenny,' I asked earnestly, ' is it by possession of the devil ? 
Tell me, for the sake of thine eternal soul.' 
She laughed at this. 

' I have never seen the devil,' she said ; ' and I know nought of 
him. Truly, my grandmother might tell you more ; but she 
teaches, the poor old woman, only what her mother taught her. 
As for the devil, we gipsies know nothing of any devil. Yet I 
think that if our art were known, all the world would flock to us to 
be healed, instead of to physicians. If I were to tell your ladyship 
what things I have seen and what pain3 allayed — all in a moment — 

but you would never believe me ' 

' Yet — oh, Jenny ! — can it be right to use a magic power ?' 

' Magic — magic V she repeated ; ' what is magic ? My people 

have secrets, and I know something of them. Why — she sprang to 

her feet and flung out her arms — ' I am a gipsy, and I have been 

your ladyship's servant ; and I am an actress, and hundreds of Due 



IN THE TOWER. 25; 

gentlemen love me — in the way of fine gentlemen ; and one man 
loves me so well that he would take me away and make me his wife, 
being such as I am. What can I do for that gentleman ? Oh, Miss 
Dorothy ! if my art were indeed as you think it, of the devil, I 
would still practise it daily, if thus I could restore my Frank to 
health.' 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

IN THE TOWER. 

By this time all the friends of the prisoners had hurried up to town. 
Lady Derwentwater, poor creature, with her two children, was stay- 
ing with the Duchess of Cleveland ; the Dowager Countess, with 
her third husband, Mr. Rooke, was come to save her son, if that 
was possible : already the Court, and everybody about the Court, 
the Ministers, and all who were thought to have any influence with 
them, were besieged with petitions and entreaties for pardon. What 
bribes were offered and taken, I know not ; but a good many who were 
no worse than those executed got free pardons. Lady Cowper told 
me afterwards that her husband was offered £60,000 to procure 
the pardon of Lord Derwentwater. They tried to bribe the wrong 
man ; the hands of those far lower in rank should have been 
touched with gold. But you shall see. It made my heart bleed, 
sad as I was on my own account, to hear Lady Cowper's tales of the 
poor women who came to her daily, because she was of the North 
Country, to beg her influence, and fell at her feet and wept. She 
was so tender and compassionate a woman, that I am sure she used 
her influence as she could, and perhaps got off many more besides 
her cousins, Mr. Clavering and his son. 

The Countess placed her whole hope in her husband's powerful 
friends and connections. The Dukes of Richmond and St. Albans, 
his cousins, were on the other side ; would they allow their kinsman's 
head to fall without an effort ! Alas ! her hope proved a broken 
reed ; these noble lords begged for a pardon, but they begged in 
vain, and I doubt whether they begged in the only way which was 
able to touch the King's heart, namely, by threats. Lord Derwent- 
water was their kinsman, true ; but unfortunately he was not their 
friend. Among the Peers he had no friends. Why, Lord Nairn 
got off because he had an old schoolfellow among the Ministers ; 
but there was no one who had known Lord Derwentwater as a boy. 
Truly, to be a Roman Catholic in this realm of England is to be 
placed at a great disadvantage. One would not, surely, wish it 
otherwise ; but for my lord's sake it must needs be lamented. There 
were seven lords in the Tower ; in the end five got off. Why did they 
execute the other two ? Were they more criminal than the rest ? 
Alas ! no ; but they were more friendless, and one of them was near 
by blood to the Prince. 

I sought the Countess as soon as I learned where she was. She 
seemed, at first, full of hope — even of confidence. The King would 
mot dare to displeasure so many great lords who would implore his 



2j6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

pardon for her husband ; his own seat was not so secure as to 
warrant the throwing away of powerful friends ; his cause would 
be best served by clemency. She repeated these arguments 
so often, and with so many interjections, pauses, catching of her 
babes to her breast, that I could very well perceive the secret terror 
in her heart. Her cheeks were wan ; ber eyes were hollow ; sho 
was consumed by her anxiety as by a fever. She owned to me 
presently that at night she could not sleep, but passed the hours on 
her knees, offering herself, her children, her all to the "Virgin, in 
return for the life — only the life — of her husband. 

'Alas !' she cried, ' Heaven is not deaf ; the Lord is very merciful. 
I have by letters asked the Augustine Sisters in Paris to pray for 
me ; day and night there is a taper burning before the Virgin in 
their chapel ; the good Sisters pray for me without ceasing. Or 
when I am not praying I importune some great man or some great 
lady to do something for my lord. They tell me the law must have 
its course ; there must be a trial — I care not what they say or do at 
the trial, if he be pardoned after it ; I must expect — yes, I look — 
to hear that he is sentenced to execution — but that matters nothing 
if they mean to let him go. Why, if he be but suffered to live, I 
promise that not he only, but his son after him, shall sit quiet at 
home even if the Prince with his forces be marching through 
England from victory to victory.' 

Then she went on, now assuring herself of his safety, and now 
confessing her fears, and it was dreadful sorrow and pain only to 
hear her. She saw her husband almost daily, and in his presence, I 
am told, she controlled herself and was calm, as both the brave souls 
were, for fear of making each other more unhappy. Sometimes I 
asked myself whether she ever repented of throwing down her fan 
on the day of the meeting. I think she did not, because I, who was 
as vehement as herself, have not and never shall repent of my 
earnestness. For if the cause was just, and the time was ripe, why 
should we delay the blow ? Let the blame lie on those wicked and 
mischievous men who persuaded us that the time was really ripe for 
action and the hour come, not on those who believed and were 
deceived to their own destruction. 

In the midst of his own trouble my lord found time to think of 
me. One day about the New Year the Countess gave me a letter 
from him. 

' My dear Cousin Dorothy,' it said, 

' I hear that you are in London about Tom's unhappy busi- 
ness. It would comfort me greatly if I could see you, and I doubt 
not, if you can come here, they will admit you to see me. God send 
us all a happy deliverance ! Though for myself I dare not hope, yet 
as for Tom, whose only fault was his easy temper, by which design- 
ing persons led him (and us) to confusion, I hope and believe that 
he will escape. Comfort my dear wife, and keep up your own heart. 

' Your loving Cousin and Friend, 

Dei-.wentwater.' 



IN THE TOWER. 



257 



' Go to see him, Dorothy,' said the Countess ; ' if only because he 
hath always loved you well and taken pleasure in your conversation. 
Besides, he desires to send some message to your brother about I 
know not what.' 

I rejoice now, though then it seemed a terrible thing to do, that 
I had courage to visit my lord in that gloomy place, the Tower, the 
very name of which fills the heart with terror. I have him always 
in my mind with that proud bearing and steadfast eye with which 
he encountered the insults of the mob. It is well also to think of 
him as he was when he sat in his prison, endeavouring to be resigned 
to his untimely fate, yet not without hope ; cheerful, as becomes a 
Christian ; and brave, as becomes a gentleman. 

I rode to the Tower through the City in a hackney-coach, having 
my landlady, Purdy's wife, with me for guide or protector. The 
day was so cold and the streets so frozen, that our coachman went 
but slowly, and the good woman with me had time to point out all 
the places along which we passed. First, St. Sepulchre's Church ; 
then Newgate Prison (which I already knew so well) ; then through 
the gate with the effigy of Dkk Whittington and his cat upon it ; the 
narrow and evil-smelling Newgate Street, its bulwarks covered with 
meat, the gutters running blood, and greasy butchers carrying car- 
cases upon their shoulders ; and after Newgate Street St. Paul's 
Cathedral (truly a great and wonderful building), and then crowded 
streets without number (but among them the tall Monument) ; and 
presently a wide, open space, with, on the; right hand, a broad river 
and a forest of masts, and before me a great white castle, which is 
none other than the Tower of London, where so many unfortunate 
lords have been confined. 

When our coachman drew up before a kind of wicket, I observed 
first that the gate was guarded by a dozen or twenty men, in scarlet 
jerkins, and caps of some old fashion ; these are the buffetiers. 
Beyond them, in a courtyard, was a troop of foot-soldiers, some on 
guard, some standing about in the door, some within the guard- 
room, sitting beside a great fire. Outside the gate there was a little 
crowd of men and women, some of them belonging to the better 
sort. As I stood and looked at them, one stepped forward and 
flourished his hat. 

' We hope,' he said, ' that your ladyship is on the right side— that 
is to say, the side for which the lords within are prisoners.' 

Thus bold with their opinions were the Jacobites of London. 
Alas ! had they been as bold with their swords ! 

And the rest of the crowd murmured approval, and the women 
cried, 'God help the poor prisoners !' and the men said, ' Lord blesa 
the lady's pretty face, whoever she is.' 

' My friends,' I said, ' I am going to see my cousin, Lord Der- 
wentwater ; and I am the sister of General Forster, now in New- 
gate.' 

Then they all bowed, and made way for me with great re- 
spect. 

When I came out, they wore waiting for me ; and after I got into 



2*S DOROTHY FORSTER. 

my coach, they walked beside me in a kind of procession as far as 
Tower Street," where they cheered me loudly and left me. 

Two of the prisoners, namely, Lords Derwentwater and Niths- 
dale, were confined in what they call the Bell Tower. It is close 
to the entrance, and is the only part of the great gloomy building 
which I saw. They were placed in two chambers on the second 
story which lead out of a large room called the Council Chamber, 
the same in which Guy Fawkes was tortured and examined. When 
I was conducted to this room I found it filled not only with guards 
and wardens on duty, but also with people, chiefly women, who 
had been suffered to come here by these men, or paid for admission, 
in order to look upon those who visited the prisoners. This, be- 
cause they gazed so earnestly upon me, and asked each other aloud 
who I might be, I thought at the time was cruel and unfeeling ; but 
now one blesses the happy chance, because it was the presence of 
such a crowd which enabled Lady Nithsdale to get off her husband. 
However, they kept me waiting for a few moments, and then ad- 
mitted me to his lordship. 

It was a small chamber, but decently furnished. My lord, who 
was writing at the table, rose to welcome me with his ready smile. 

' Why, Cousin Dorothy,' he said, ' it is kind to brave the mob on 
so cold a day as this in order to visit a poor prisoner. Oh ! as to 
my health, that matters nothing now, and my comfort very little. 
As I have made my bed, so must I lie upon it. Nay, Dorothy, do 
not cry. If a man stakes his all upon a hopeless chance, he must 
look to lose. Perhaps, before I die, I may bring myself to forgive 
those whose lies and treacheries brought us to this pass. Were it 
not, indeed, for my wife and hapless babies ' 

He turned his head and was silent. 

| My lord,' I said, trying to bring him hope, ' you do yourself an 
injustice. You are not yet even tried ; you have many friends — 
more than you know of. Great ladies and gentlemen, men of 
exalted rank there are, who will leave no stone unturned for you.' 

' If all England were my friend, Dorothy, it would avail me 
nothing so long as I have one enemy — and he the King.' 

And to this he returned again presently, declaring always that the 
King himself was resolved upon his destruction. And that he 
knew for certain that the King regarded the Prince and all his per- 
sonal friends with peculiar hatred and malice. 

'Besides,' he said, 'if any are to be sentenced, shall the leaders 
escape and the followers suffer ? Would that be justice ?' 

' Since the power of this new King,' I said, ' is now proved by the 
failure of the Rebellion, which has established him on a firmer 
footing and therefore done him all the good possible, why can he 
not pardon all ?' 

' Because history is not made up of pardons, but of sentences and 
executions. However, in this place,' he said, ' we have, at least, 
time for meditation ; and if I were to write a narrative of the Re- 
bellion I should call it " The History of a Hundred Fools and Half- 
a-dozen Knaves." The knaves, I trust, will at least receive tne 



IN THE TOWER. 259 

«sme punishment as the fools. As for us, I know not which should 
be considered the greatest fool of any, but I think it must be myself, 
unless it were Tom Forster.' 

He then told me that he had strong reason to believe there would 
be found among the prisoners one or two to give King's evidence in 
order to save themselves. This was -what Lady Cowper hinted. 

' I trust,' he said, ' that among my own friends there is not one 
who would play so base a part ; and I think, nay, I am sure, that 
there is plenty of evidence to hang most of us without such assist- 
ance. Go to Tom, however, and tell him so much from me, that he 
and his friends may be warned against traitors in the camp.' 

He put aside this matter, and began first calmly and reasonably 
to consider the mistakes which had been made in their short cam- 
paign ; especially their neglect in not enlisting as many as offered ; 
in not providing ammunition and provisions ; and in entering 
England so ill prepared. And next he told me he was already 
thinking of his defence, and that he was careful not to say aught 
tbat might implicate my brother any deeper in the business. 

1 1 am told,' he added, ' that an attempt will be made to prove my 
cousin, Tom Forster, the author of the whole design — whereas he 
was but an instrument— and as the man who drew us all in. There- 
fore I shall maintain the clean contrary. I rose for my lawful 
Sovereign, first, because it was my duty when the time came ; next, 
because I was assured, being myself ignorant of the feeling of the 
people, that every gentleman in the country would rise with us. 
Tell Tom this also, from me, cousin. And tell him, moreover, that 
though many blame him for the Preston surrender, I do not. The 
case was hopeless ; more would have been killed trying to cut their 
way through than will now, probably, be beheaded or hanged. Yet 
I still wish we had run the chance. So let us think kindly of each 
other ; if both die, let us meet in heaven as brothers ; and if I only, 
let him remember me with sorrow and kindness.' 

' And if neither, my lord ?' 

' Why, then ' he laughed gently. ' But 'tis impossible, the 

King being such as he is. Yet if neither, then, Dorothy, I promise 
to oblige Tom by sitting with him as far as t'other bottle.' 

Then he was silent awhile, gazing before him as one who sees in 
fancy a pageant of the past. 

'Dorothy,' he said softly, 'you remember the time, five years 
ago, when I used to ride across the moor to Blanchland to walk and 
talk with the sweetest girl in Northumberland.' 

' Oh ! my lord, you must not say that any more ; you must not 
even think such a thing. But as for me, can I ever forget that 
season ?' 

' Why, I am married since then, and have a wife whom I dearly 
love, and she hath made me the happiest of men ; yet withal, by 
your leave, Dorothy, fair cousin, I do still remember that time, and 
the sweet looks and gentle smiles of her who refused me for 
conscience' sake. I say it in all honesty, my cousin.' 



260 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' It was from your lips, cousin, that I learned what in St. Ger- 
main's I could not learn, what should be the conduct of a true 
English gentleman, and what his duty to those who depend upon 
him. Why, I was not half an Englishman. How ignorant I was 
in those days no one but yourself has ever known. It was your 
kind heart that taught me to desire the love of the people. In 
France we regard them not, and care neither for their affection nor 
their hatred. It comforts me, now, to think that, thanks to your 
noble teaching, my people will grieve for me when I am dead. 
Well, it is over ; you and I will never walk and talk together any 
more ; yet we have been happy. And now I am tied up in the 
slaughter-house, waiting for the man with the knife. And Charles, 
poor lad ! is in Newgate. And Frank — where is Frank ?' 

' Frank is in London, but he is grievously sick with a cough which 
leaves him not day or night, so that he cannot quit his chamber. 
And much I fear that he will never go abroad again.' 

I did not tell him — because why should he be vexed ? — that Frank 
was also held in bondage by his strange and vehement passion. 

' Poor Frank ! he sighed. ' This it is to inherit the unlucky 
blood of the Stuarts. The Eadcliffes did very well until — poor 
Frank! Charles told me something of an actress — but I forget 
what. Tell him if you see him, Dorothy, that I can give him my 
prayers for the short time left me in life, but nothing more. Two 
of us in grievous jeopardy of the scaffold, and one like to die of a 
cough. 'Tis an excellent and a hopeful beginning of the New 
Year !' 

It was growing dark, and time for me to go. So in the twilight 
of that too dismal New Year's Day, and in that gloomy place, we 
stood to say farewell, face to face. He held both my hands in his. 

' Farewell, sweet cousin — dear sister, whom I have always loved. 
If we meet no more, farewell.' 

He kissed me on the forehead and lips, and so I left him, and— 
alas ! alas 1 — I looked upon his noble face no more. 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

me. hilyard's freedom. 

A day or two after this Mr. Hilyard appeared no longer in the dis- 
guise of a physician, but dressed as a sober and grave citizen ; that is 
to say, in no disguise at all, having bartered his physician's wig for 
a full wig such as that worn by the better sort, and bis black clothes 
for a plum-coloured coat and waistcoat of the same. 

' What is this new disguise ?' I asked. 

' No disguise at all,' he replied. ' I am now a free man, and need 
not hide my head at all. There is no warrant out for me ; and if 
there were, I am assured of my pardon.' 

I asked him how this was. 

'Miss Dorothy,' he replied, smiling, 'the son of a vintner need 
not be too proud to take favours from a gipsy, or even an actress.' 

' Is this, then, Jenny Lee's doing ?' 



MR. HILYARD'S FREEDOM. 261 

1 1 will tell you in a few words. Know, then, that Jenny loves 
to entertain her friends, after the theatre, to supper at her own 
lodging, and has been so good as to invite me to make one whenever 
I please. Many gentlemen — wits, Templars, poets, and the like, go 
there, and some are men of rank. Jenny cares not who they are, sc 
long as they amuse her and make her laugh, which is all she loves.' 

I had already, as I have said, seen Jenny on the stage (at Mr. 
Hilyard's urgent entreaty, but from no desire of my own), and a 
very moving spectacle I confess it was. Her part was so full of 
noble sentiments that I began to understand Mr. Hilyard's admira- 
tion for acting. Why, if all actresses and actors are thus full of 
virtuous and lofty discourse there can be no question that theirs is 
truly a great and wonderful profession, and worthy of all honour. 
But now Mr. Hilyard told me that laughter was all she cared for. 
Yet she seemed in her part possessed of the finest and most exqui- 
site sensibility. How, after this, can Mr. Hilyard persist that acting 
is an art which hath in it something of the divine ? To care for 
nothing but laughing ! 

' Among her friends,' Mr. Hilyard went on, ' who come to sup 
with her after the play is a certain great Whig lord — yes, a very 
great and powerful lord indeed — and yet his name need not be men- 
tioned between us, because, perhaps, he is one of those humble Chris- 
tians who love not their good deeds to be made public ; or, perhaps, 
because all the world need not know that he goeth to sup with Jenny 
Lee. Well, last night, after supper, there was singing and laughing. 
Among the others, I performed for the amusement of the company 
some of those small arts of mine by which I have often, of old, 
beguiled the evening for his honour and his friends.' 

' I know them well, Mr. Hilyard,' 

' Yes — I sang and played my best. But who can call anything 
acting when Jenny Lee is present ? Yet they laughed and were 
amused ; my lord was so good as to distinguish me particularly, and 
presently I heard him whisper Jenny, and ask what was my name 
and condition. " Indeed, my lord," said she, in her pretty, roguish 
way, " I shall not tell your lordship unless you promise to grant me 
the next favour I ask." " The least favour from your hands, fair 
Jenny," he replied, " even to answer so simple a question, is richly 
repaid by the greatest from mine." But I think be did not guess 
what she was about to ask him. "My lord," she said, whispering, 
" he is a most harmless, affectionate creature ; he hath come up to 
London from the north ; it is dangerous for him to venture abroad 
for the present, because he was with the rebels. Nay ; but he went 
only because his patron went, as in duty bound, and for no Popish 
reasons. No one is in search of him ; no one wants to arrest him ; 
but if he be by any accident discovered and clapped in ward, then 
will his neck be twisted and his song spoiled. Wherefore, my lord, 
make this poor man safe, and give him assurance of safety, and you 

shall have " "What, fair Jenny?" "My gratitude, my lord. 

Can you ask for more ? He is my earliest friend. He first taught 
me how to act ; he who helps Mr. Hilyard, helps me." 



262 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

' Well, he hesitated ; told her she was a witch, and a baggage, 
and a saucy rogue, and kissed her hands. Then he lugged out hia 
tablets, wrote down my name, and beckoned to me. " Sir," he said, 
" you owe to this lady your safety. I will take care that you are 
not molested ; go where you please — go even into Newgate if you 
will." You may be sure I hastened to thank him with my best leg, 
and to assure his lordship that I was his most humble servant to 
command, and that for the future, after praying for his lordship, I 
should cry, " God save King George !" ' 

The first day he came away from the prison, Mr. Hilyard was 
pensive and melancholy. 

' Truly,' he said, 'it grieves me to the soul to see these poor 
fellows, once so merry and gallant, now mewed up together in that 
gloomy place, where, ruffle and hector and swear as they may, every 
man feels as if the gallows was already in sight. The aspect of 
Mr. Edward Swinburne pleases me not, for he hangs his head and 
will hardly speak, but sitteth as much alone as may be. The minds 
of generous men are easily moved to shame for public disgrace ; yet 
the part which this young gentleman took in the Rebellion was not 
so conspicuous that his shame should enter into his soul. He is not, 
like Cleopatra, reserved for the chief place in the triumph ; nor bike 
Antony, who aimed at the empire of the inhabitable world ar.d lost 
it. Yet he is as one fallen into melancholy with the shame of the 
defeat. Some, like Mr. Stokoe, bite their nails and walk gloomily 
to and fro ; some, like poor Mr. Paul, caught by so cursed a mis- 
chance, weep and wring their hands ; some swear that a man can 
die but once, and what odds then ? Some drink to forget their 
anxiety ; one or two alone, like Mr. Charles Eadcliffe and Colonel 
Oxbrough, preserve an intrepid spirit, and show a resolute coun- 
tenance to whatever happens. 

' Most of all,' he went on, ' I pity Mr. Patten ; who, now that he 
finds himself fairly in for his trial, and no one likely to hale him 
out of prison, is falling into a dejection which may work harm to 
his honour, with whom he sits too much.' 

In fact, although Mr. Patten continually plied poor Tom with 
flatteries (more from habit than from any hope of further patronage), 
and assured him (contrary to the fact) that he was covered with 
military glory for his conduct in the campaign, his conversation 
was so full of gibbets, drawing, and quartering, with so many re- 
flections on the pain and misery of quitting the world while in the 
very prime and heyday of manhood and happiness, that Tom grew 
daily more melancholy and less disposed for resignation. Every 
day, also, Mr. Patten found occasion to compare the happy lot of 
Mr. Hilyard and his freedom with their captivity. 

' Some,' he said, ' are born to this kind of fortune, that they may 
get over the wall with impunity, while others are hanged for no 
more than peeping over it. Others, again, keep in the background 

secret friends for their own use, and so procure enlargement I 

would I knew of such ! Some even go so far, I have heard, as to 



MR. HILYARDS FREEDOM. 263 

procure their own pardon at the price of giving evidence against 
their friends — a most monstrous treachery, indeed ! Yet, Mr. 
Hilyard, I think it right to let you know that this is whispered 
against you in the Press Yard, and some there are who speak of 
braining the man who would thus ' 

' Zounds, sir !' cried Mr. Hilyard ; ' dare you — or any — insinuate 
that I go at large in order that they may suffer ?' 

' Not I, sir — not I, certainly. I tell them that the General could 
not repose his confidence in you so fully unless he had first proved 
your loyalty. Oh ! not I, indeed, sir — believe me !' 

But the mere suspicion of the thing made Mr. Hilyard so angry 
that he had no peace until he had conferred with Charles Radcliffe, 
and been assured by him that not one of the gentlemen, his old 
friends, believed him capable of so base an action. 

I suppose it was about this time that Mr. Patten began to groan 
with repentance, and to accuse himself of being a great sinner. 

I I fear, sir,' he told Tom, ' that my sin, which now weighs heavily 
upon my soul, may lead me to show my remorse and repentance in 
a way which some of my friends may not approve. Yet I am con- 
vinced that your honour, knowing the tenderness of my conscience, 
will approve what I shall do.' 

' Why, Mr. Patten,' Mr. Hilyard said, answering for Tom, who 
only stared, so strange was it to hear Mr. Patten talk in this way, 
' as for your sins, it is not for anyone to contradict you, since you 
assert the fact, and doubtless you are, like the rest of us, a miserable 
sinner ; nor are we your father confessors to ask for further par- 
ticulars ; while as for what you are going to do, repentance for sin 
can never be disapproved by his honour, who is a Christian man.' 

'Repentance with atonement, brother sinner,' said Mr. Patten, 
groaning. ' Repentance must ever be followed by atonement. Oh 
that you could feel like me !' 

However, they presently had a bowl of punch, and made merry. 
Mr. Patten, in spite of his sins, drinking about with the rest. 

The next day he came not to Tom's chamber, and they knew not 
what kept him. But on the morrow the strange news was carried 
abroad that Mr. Patten had received enlargement, and was now in 
custody of a messenger. But still they knew not, and suspected 
not, why. 

Two or three days after this (the impeachment of the lords taking 
place in the meantime) Mr. Hilyard came to me in such a wrath 
and passion of rage as I had never witnessed in him before. 

' Oh !' he cried, flinging his arms about, and jumping round the 
room ; ' oh ! was there ever since history began so great, so un- 
exampled a villain ? Did the world ever know so deep a hypocrite ? 
Is there anywhere a record of so canting, sneaking a creature ?' 

' What is it ?' I asked. ' Who is the villain ?' 

For a while I could not get him to tell me anything, so angry he 
was, and so much occupied in searching for hard words to throw at 
this new enemy. 

' What has he done ?' he said at last ' He has turned King's 



264 DOROTHY F0R5TER. 

evidence. To save his own fat neck, which might have been 
tightened, and no one a penny the worse, he has turned King's 
evidence. For his own worthless carcase he will put all these brave 
fellows' heads into the noose ' 

' But who is it — who ?' 

'Who should it be but Creeping Bob— the Reverend Robert 
Patten, Artium Magister ! He it is ; and Quartermaster Calderwood 
with him. Mr. Stokoe also pretended that he was ready to give 
evidence too, and got enlargement under custody ; but it was a flam, 
and he hath escaped. Now, indeed, there is consternation in the 
prison, and every man among them feels already a catching of the 
breath, as if he were troubled with a tightness of the neck. This 
was the meaning of the sin which lay upon the hypocrite's soul, and 
demanded repentance and atonement. I make no doubt but he will 
hasten to inform against me. Ah ! double villain ! But I dread 
him not. And to say that he hoped to preserve the good opinion 
of his honour, against whom he will give evidence ! Would that 
he would venture, but for five minutes only, his ugly face in the 
Press Yard ! No ox ever was carried from the shambles more done 
to death thanhe would be. As for his honour, I have never known 
him more cast down and sunk in his spirits since first he was 
locked up.' 

Thus, then, was explained the warning of Lady Cowper, though 
I have never known how long the preliminaries had been entered 
upon by this reverend hypocrite. 

' Why, while he talked with us and drank his honour's punch,' 
Mr. Hilyard went on, ' he was already determined to betray us, and 
revolving in his mind how best to do it. Repentance 1 Remorse ! 
Atonement ! These are sacred words ; but I shall never again be 
able to use them, for fear of awakening the spirit of revenge against 
Mr. Fatten ; and so while lamenting one sin (and that, perhaps, 
a venial one) I may be committing another, and that a deadly sin. 
Never before did I so long, yea, so ardently desire to compass the 
death of any man, though, I own with surprise, my soul took fierce 
delight in letting fly among General Willes's Dragoons. But that 
was in battle, where one may lawfully kill and slay ; while this 
would be stark murder. And who so eager for the rising ? Who 
so active to enlist recruits ? Who so keen to preach the plain duty 
of loyal men, and the manifold justice of Divine Right ? Who so 
clear to see the finger of the Lord pointing out the way ? Who so 
strong for the return of the Prince ? If there was a man among us 
all who should take the consequences, it is — Creeping Bob ; if any- 
one who should go to his death with resignation, it is — Creeping 
Bob. Oh, villain ! villain !' 

This was after the impeachment of the lords, in which my brother 
was named as a confederate, and it made us very desirous to push 
on our plans, seeing that now there was no hope of insufficient 
evidence, and every man was doomed, unless the King should 
pardon him. I heard from Lady Cowper that the trial of the con- 
federates would be taken immediately after the case of the lords 



MR. MLYARD'S FREEDOM. z$s 

was disposed of, which would be, she thought, in a few weeks. Her 
husband was Lord High Steward of the Commission. Mr. Hilyard's 
plan was this : he would bribe Mr. Pitts, the Governor, with a large 
sum for allowing a door to remain open. Then he would have to 
bribe certain warders and turnkeys to keep out of the way ; next, to 
choose a favourable time ; and, lastly, to devise a means of crossing 
the water. He had already, it seems, sounded Mr. Pitts cautiously 
on the subject, and, judging from the virtuous abhorrence which 
the Governor expressed as regards those who betray their trust for 
money, and the indignation with which he put the thing from him, 
yet returned to its discussion, Mr. Hilyard thought there would be 
no difficulty with him other than the arrangement of the price. To 
be sure, the Governor was reaping a golden harvest at this time, 
and was not disposed to be moderate in his demands. I thought my 
own plan better, and likely to be cheaper and as effective ; therefore 
I resolved on first trying my friendly warder. 

With this view I enjoined Mr. Hilyard not to pursue the business 
farther, for the moment, with Mr. Pitts, but to apply himself to 
finding some safe and trustworthy means of getting a man to France. 
I never knew, nor did I even ask, by what secret means Mr. Hilyard 
had information, as well in London as in the country ; but presently 
he told me that he knew of such a captain as we wanted. (He was 
not our Wapping friend.) He was one who had run many across, 
and though he asked a large sum for his work, he was reported 
honest and trustworthy. Mr. Hilyard bargained with him that he 
should be in readiness against the time we should want him. But 
this, owing to various hindrances, and especially the jealous and 
hostile temper of London, was deferred until the trial of the lords 
should be finished, the dreadful thirst for blood somewhat appeased, 
and the pulpits and journals be preaching counsels of moderation. 
In other words, we might have got Tom away within a month of 
his arrival at Newgate ; but, when every strange rider along the 
road was being arrested on suspicion, and every harmless passenger 
in the street liable to be haled before the nearest justice, we judged 
it better to wait. 

I knew now that during this time the friends of all the prisoners 
were not only moving in every direction for interest in high places 
with which to get a pardon, but were also already devising means 
and ways, and secretly trying gaolers, guards, and wardens, to see if 
they were open to corruption, and preparing money for the time 
when an escape might be conveniently attempted. For the present 
that time was not yet come. In the end, beside Lord Nithsdale, 
whose wife got him out, and Lord Wintoun, who sawed his way out, 
and Tom, whom I got out, by the help of Heaven, there were a 
great many who escaped, as well as those who were reprieved or 
pardoned, and those who were tried and acquitted. Thus Charles 
Radcliffe escaped in a very bold and daring manner; Captain 
Charles Wogan, one of the Irish messengers, but a brave fellow, 
made a safe escape ; the Brigadier Macintosh, Mr. Hunter of 
Callalee, and Mr. Budden, the London upholsterer, escaped, with a 



266 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

good many others. 'Twas said that the Government rejoiced at 
hearing of their breaking gaol, because it saved them from the 
odium of many executions, and the seeming cruelty of many 
pardons. In the end, although many were executed in Lancashire, 
there were only four who suffered in London, besides the two 
unhappy lords — namely, the unfortunate Mr. John Hall, of Otter- 
bourne, the Reverend William Paul, Colonel Oxbrough, and Captain 
Gascoigne. As regards the two last, I have no pity for them, be- 
cause it was on their statements that our people took up arms, and 
firmly believing that if they led, thousands would follow. If any 
suffered, they should suffer ; if the blood of the poor fellows who 
lost their lives at Preston and Sheriffmuir was on the head of any. 
it was on theirs. Yet why should Mr. Hall (except that he was 
ever unlucky after the murder of my uncle Ferdinando) be hanged, 
and Mr. Clavering, of Callalee, go free ? Why should poor Mr. 
Paul, who took no part in the fighting, be executed, and others re- 
ceive a pardon ? I blame not the King for pardoning any, but I 
blame them because they pardoned some, and executed others who 
were no more guilty. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

jenny's scheme. 
This project of Jenny's contrivance was so simple, and seemed so 
easy, that it completely took possession of my mind, and for a time 
I could think scarce of anything else. For to liberate my lord 
would be so great and wonderful a thing. Why, these people who 
act can assume, and make others assume, any appearance they 
please ; had I not seen Mr. Hilyard under a dozen disguises ? It 
would be nothing for Jenny to make up first Frank, and then the 
Earl, into another person altogether. 

' Nay,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' but you forget that when I have de- 
ceived you, it is first through your imagination the cheat is wrought, 
so that I made you think of a physician first, before I assumed the 
bearing and guise of one ; and of the blacksmith, John Purdy, be- 
fore I became that man. And so with the stage. Before Jenny 
steps across the boards — majesty in her face, sovereignty in her 
eyes, authority in her carriage — you have been prepared to expect a 
Queen ; and, lo ! she stands before you. But without this prepara- 
tion and talk disguise is not so easy, and Jenny's scheme will want, 
methinks, the help of twilight. Then, indeed, it might be safely 
tried, Mr. Frank's resemblance to his brother being so great that he 
might, by candle-light even, pass very well for the Earl. But he 
gets daily worse instead of better.' 

We began then to consider the strange nature of Jenny's power 
over him, so that what she should command, that he would straight- 
way do ; and, whereas at Dilston it was in a trance that he did 
these things, now it was with all his wits awake, and of his owu 
free will — a mere slave to the will of a woman. 

'In this respect,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'he only follows many illus- 
trious examples of antiquity — Solomon among others.' 



JENNY'S SCHEME. 267 

'Did she give him a love-potion ? or did she by some other magic 
and witch-like art steal his affections ?' 

' Nay, Miss Dorothy,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' you understand not the 
strength of love nor the power of Jenny's beauty.' She had bright 
black eyes, red lips, and a rosy cheek, with black curls and a tall, 
good figure ; and, in a word, the girl was well enough, and might 
have pleased some honest fellow of her own rank and birth. ' She 
is,' continued Mr. Hilyard, ' a most beautiful and bewitching crea- 
ture ; witty and roguish. You must not suppose because a gentle- 
woman seldom or never loves a man below her own degree (yet 
Venus, the great goddess, loved Adonis, the shepherd boy), that 
therefore a gentleman cannot love a woman of inferior birth. Why, 
Boaz, a great prince, as one may suppose, loved Ruth, who seemed 
to him a simple leasing-maid, and King Cophetua loved a beggar- 
maid. There are other examples too many to enumerate. As for 
Jenny's witcheries, I believe not in them any more than consists in 
her bright eyes and smiles.' 

' But, oh ! Mr. Hilyard,' I exclaimed, ' remember what she did at 
Dilston and what I saw, although she deceived me, lying without 
shame.' 

' Truly,' he said, ' I forget not. It is strange to think upon. 
There was once, as is related, a learned scholar of Oxford who fell 
into a kind of melancholy, and conceived a disgust at the company 
of his fellows. Wherefore he presently left his college and his 
companions, and, going away into the fields, fell in with a band of 
gipsies, and continued with them all his life, asking for nothing 
more than they could give him — namely, to dwell in the open air, 
to sleep in tents, to endure the extremes of weather, to live hard, 
and to have no discourse on books, religion, philosophy, or any of 
the subjects with which he had formerly been conversant. But to 
one seeking him in this strange retirement, he said that the gipsy 
race was possessed of many and marvellous secrets, some of which 
had been imparted to himself, and that, without any agreement or 
covenant with the devil, they could so cheat the eyes and brains of 
men and women as to make them do what they wished, see things 
invisible, hear voices afar off, and believe what they were told to 
believe. So Frank Radcliffe, being asleep, seemed awake, and 
knew not afterwards what he had said or done. Yet no devilry.' 

Who can understand these things ? 

'Why,' I asked, ' seeing that you are so great a scholar, cannot 
you cure Frank of this madness ?' 

He shook his head. 

' Because when all the medicines for the cure of love have been 
applied, there still remains the lover. Why, to love as Frank is in 
love is to be strong, to be a man, on whom the remedium amoris is 
but a sham. Any weak man may think himself in love with a girl 
of his own degree ; but this kind of love, as when one hath loved a 
mermaid, or sea-dragon, and another a fairy, and another a black 
woman, is not to be cured, and means great strength of will and 
passion unconquerable. From ordinary passions a strong man like 



268 DOROTHY FOKSTJiK. 

myself keeps himself free ; especially -when, Miss Dorothy,' he 
looked at me with a soft suffusion of his eyes, ' when a man is pre- 
vented from loving other women, because he is always in presence 
of one so godlike, that the rapt senses cannot endure to think upon 
a creature of lower nature.' 

' But,' I said, leaving the subject of love's madness, 'Jenny's pro- 
ject is so easy, that it seems ridiculous to hope that it hath not been 
guarded against.' 

' The greatest things,' he said, ' are sometimes effected in the 
easiest manner. The mathematician of Syracuse fired a fleet with 
burning-glasses. But he did not invent the burning-glass. And I 
remember the egg of Columbus.' 

I went to see Frank. He had a lodging near Jenny in Red Lion 
Street just now ; the weather being so hard, he stirred not abroad 
at all, but sat beside the fire all day, suffering grievously from his 
cough. 

' Cousin Dorothy,' he said, pleased indeed to see me (but hia 
cheeks were thin and hollow and his shoulders rounded, so that it 
was sad to look upon him), ' I heard that you were in town ; I wouM 
to Heaven it were on a more pleasant errand ! I cannot get abroad 
to see anyone, not even my brothers in the Tower and in Newgate, 
poor lads ! nor my sister-in-law, the Countess, who hath too much 
to think of, so that she cannot be expected to come here. Off hood 
and cloak, cousin, and draw a chair near the fire, and talk to me, 
because I may not talk much.' 

Another fit of coughing seized him and shook him to and fro, so 
that at the end he lay back among his pillows exhausted. 

I told him what news I had to tell, and gave him such comfort 
as I had to give, which was not much ; yet I could tell him that I 
had seen my lord, and how he looked, and how he had hopes from 
his noble friends and cousins. 

' As for me,' he said, ' what use am I in the world to anybody ? 
And at such a juncture to be thus laid by the heels and unable to 
stir ! Ah, Dorothy ! it is weary work lying here, whither no one 
comes, save Mr. Hilyard, who is very good, and keeps up my heart ; 
and every day, never failing, the best, the kindest, the most beauti- 
ful of her sex ' 

' You mean Jenny Lee,' I said. 

1 Whom should I mean but that incomparable creature ? Dorothy, 
I should be the happiest of men, because the divine Jenny hath 
promised to marry me as soon as I am recovered of this plaguy 
cough. I know not yet where we shall live; she will leave the 
stage, which is the scene of her triumphs, but yet no fit place for a 
gentleman's wife ; we will go somewhere into the country, it matters 
not where, so that we have a garden, and are retired from mankind, 
and especially from those who ride up and down exhorting us to be 
ready for the Prince. As for religion, I am what I am ; but my 
children shall be of the religion of their country, with which Jenny, 
who hath been religiously brought up, is well content.' 

As for Jenny's religion, I doubt much if she had kept any ; bulj 



JENNY'S SCHEME. 269 

to be sure, her mother had her taught the Catechism and Ten Com- 
mandments with the Lord's Prayer. 

He was going to add more, but he stopped as if arrested in the 
current of his thoughts, and held up his finger, crying : 

' She is coming. Hush ! I hear her footstep.' 

I listened, but could hear nothing except the cries of those who 
bawled their wares in the street below, and from Holborn the roll 
of carts and waggons. How could he hear her step, when it was 
five minutes, at least, before she came (and then in her glass-coach) 
and knocked at the door of the house ? 

It was about three o'clock of the afternoon, and she was finely 
dressed, because she would presently go on her way to the theatre, 
and beneath her furred cloak she wore hoops and a crimson satin 
petticoat, with a white silk frock and long train, very rich and 
magnificent, and a great quantity of lace, her head very finely 
dressed, and patches artfully bestowed. She saluted me with great 
politeness, and Frank (whom she kissed) with peculiar tenderness, 
asking what kind of night he had passed, and if he was not better. 

' Much better,' said the poor lad, ' and very much stronger ;' but 
another cough began. Thereupon Jenny took both his hands, made 
him look her in the face, then laid down his hands, and passed hers 
before his eyes, and then — oh, strange ! — he lay back upon his pillows 
asleep, breathing lightly like a child. 

' Your ladyship perceives,' she said, • that there is no physician 
like Jenrjy, and no medicine like the practice of the gipsies.' 

' Oh, Jenny,' I whispered, looking curiously at the sleeping man, 
' it is wickedness ; it cannot be anything short of sorcery. Women 
have been burned for less.' 

' Oh yes, I know. Poor creatures who could not even read the 
lines of the hand. They were burned for much less. Wherefore, 
we of the Romany tribe hide these gifts, and practise them only 
among ourselves ; but not all have the power. And by this means 
we allay the pains of toothache and rheumatism to which we are 
liable ; and we find out what goes on far away ; and yet I know not 
of any devil in it at all. See now, Miss Dorothy ' — she caught my 
hand — ' he is not asleep ; he is quiet, with eyes closed, because E 
have ordered it. He will now answer any question you ask him. 
Shall he tell us what my lord is doing in the Tower ?' 

' N© — yes ! Jenny, it is wicked.' 

' Tell me, Frank, what your brother is doing in the Tower ?' 

Frank replied, without opening his eyes : 

' He is sitting alone by the fireside ; a book is before him, but he 
reads it not ; he is thinking of Dilston and his children. Now a 
tear falls from his eye ; now ' 

' Jenny, for the love of God, stop him ! I dare not — it is im- 
pious — to pry into my lord's secret and sacred thoughts.' 

She looked at me curiously. 

' I can tell you,' she said, ' if he loves you still.' 

' I will hear no more. Oh, Jenny, Jenny t these are, truly, arts 
of tW ^yil.' 



270 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

She shook her head and laughed. 

' Fear not, Miss Dorothy ; I will ask him no more questions. Let 
Frank rest in peace for half-an-hour, then he will be easier. If I 
could spend the whole day and night here, nursing him, he should 
soon recover. For, see you, it is the strength and violence of his 
cough that pulls him to pieces. If I were here I would stop each 
attack at the very beginning, and so he would soon get strength.' 

Then I asked her about her project for the Earl's release. She 
said she thought of it, because it would please Frank, when he got 
better, to attempt it ; because it was a thing easy of accomplish- 
ment ; and because it would please myself. As for his lordship, she 
shrugged her shoulders, and said that when her own people went 
stealing poultry, poisoning pigs, lifting linen from the hedge, and 
other things forbidden by the law, they were hanged, flogged, pil- 
loried, branded in the cheek, or transported to the Plantations, 
without anyone trying to save them or crying over them. The 
punishment, she said, was part of the life. Those who did such 
things tried to escape detection ; but, if they were caught, they 
knew what to expect. Wherefore, in the same way, those who re- 
belled against the King should take the consequences without all 
this crying over it ; but she hoped his honour (meaning my brother 
Tom) would get safely out of Newgate ; and since Frank, who was 
her sweetheart, and I, who was her old mistress, ardently desired it, 
she hoped that Lord Derwentwater would get off scot-free. 

Then I asked her when she would open the business to Frank. 

' Why,' she replied, laying her hand tenderly on his thin cheekj 
' your ladyship must first please to understand that Frank is my 
own man. I suffer no one to come between my man and me.' She 
turned and glared upon me like a tigress. ' It is I who must first 
speak with him about it, and must choose the time and everything.' 

' Surely, Jenny, it is your plan. No one will interfere with you.' 

' They wanted to tear him from me, and drag him off to the wars. 
Charles Radcliffe came to me and said hard words, but heard harder. 
Was I going to suffer him to go on such a fool's errand ? Nay, I 
warrant you. So Master Charles went off without him, and hath 
brought his pigs to a pretty market. Trust me, Miss Dorothy.' 
Her voice became soft, and so did her eyes. ' Trust me ; as soon as 
my poor boy is better, he shall do this thing. I will leave him 
behind, and carry the Earl away with me. There will be no fear 
for him ; though at first they will talk of high treason, and the 
rest. At present a great deal of foolishness is talked, and we at the 
theatre get hissed and applauded every night for some line or other 
which has a meaning. But they will let Frank go free. 

' Meanwhile, your ladyship,' she said, ' it is now four o'clock, and 
Boon I must drive away to the theatre. Will you leave us ? I must 
restore him first, and make him comfortable for the night, and see 
to his broth and medicine. Will you kindly come again to see him, 
and pardon the daily presence of his sweetheart — your old servant ?' 

I wished her good-night and came away, but she shamed me with 
her courtly courtesy and the sweeD of her hoop» and train. 



THE LORDS' TRIAL. 271 

'On the stage,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'all is exaggerated, from the 
sotting of a chair to the dropping of a curtsey. Therefore, poor 
Jenny, who hath acquired her manners on the boards, saluted you 
as if you were the Queen and she the unfortunate heroine.' 

' And what of poor Frank, Mr. Hilyard ?' 

' Truly,' he replied, and my heart sank, thinking of my lord and 
of Jenny's project, ' I fear his days will be few and full of suffering, 
and his life here on earth like that in the kingdom of heaven in one 
respect — namely, that there will be in it neither marrying nor 
giving in marriage.' 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE LORDS' TRIAL. 

Meantime, Justice was pursuing her way in the slow but certain 
method of English law, which must be far more terrible to the 
wrongdoer than the swift and sudden revenges of foreign States. 
As for the gentlemen and the baser sort, though in the north many 
were already under sentence of death, those in England were as yet 
left in prison, waiting their turn in affected carelessness, in sullen 
gloom, in remorse, or indifference, according to their mood. Tom, 
for his part, changed in his temper from day to day ; yet, since the 
Judas-like falling off of the villain Patten, he began to droop, and 
to lose even the cheerfulness which can be procured from a bottle 
of wine. As regards the lords in the Tower, their case was brought 
before the House of Commons by Mr. Lechmere, and their im- 
peachment was sent to the bar of the House of Lords. On the 9th 
of January they were all brought by water to the Upper House, 
where the articles of impeachment were read to them. Time being 
granted them to prepare their pleas, they were carried back to the 
Tower. 

It was, perhaps, some consolation to the unfortunate prisoners 
that along the whole of the way in returning they were escorted by 
a Jacobite mob, who cheered them continually. Yet, methinks, no 
cheering of a mob could reconcile me to the loss of my head, coupled 
with the feeling that it had been foolishly thrown away. The lords 
were allowed to stop on their return at the Fountain Tavern, in the 
Strand, where for the last time they took dinner and a bottle of 
wine together. You would have thought, said one who saw it, that, 
outside, all the Jacobites in England were gathered together ; or, 
at least, that all London was Jacobites, so great was the crowd. 
And when the prisoners came forth, guarded by twelve warders, 
there was such an uproar with pushing and struggling to touch the 
hands — yea, and even the skirts of their coats— as never before was 
seen. Had this mob been as valiant for fighting as they were for 
shouting, there would have been no need for the shouting at all. 
But it is easier to shout than to fight. Of all the London friends 
of the Prince, there was but one who ventured his skin for the 
cause. This was good Mr. Budden, an upholsterer by trade. He, 
at the first news of the rising, hastened north to join the English 



271 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

force. One — one only, out of all that multitude ! Which proves 
that nothing is more contemptible than the opinion of the mob, 
which is all for this side to-day, and that to-morrow, and with no 
reason or fixed principle, or power to do anything for either side 
but mischief, with burning of bonfires, waylaying of honest men, 
and pillaging of houses. Strange it is to think that there have been 
States in which the baser sort were considered as much as their 
betters, and possessed equal rights ! No doubt this fact proved the 
ruin of those States. When the lords had passed through their 
crowds of friends, and emptied their snuff-boxes among them a 
dozen times at least, they got back to their coaches, and so passed 
slowly along the streets to their prison. 

They were carried on the 17th day of the month to the House of 
Lords to make their answers. As for that of Lord Derwentwater, 
he declared, first of all, that he was wholly unconcerned with any 
plot or conspiracy whatever, and that he joined in the rising of his 
friends and cousins hastily and without deliberate design. This was 
not believed by any, as Lady Cowper hath told me ; yet was it most 
certainly true, as I will always maintain. Plot there was, and a 
deep-laid, wide- spread plot covering the whole of the three king- 
doms ; yet was not my lord in it, as Tom always affirmed. 

'Yet,' says Mr. Hilyard, 'the plea was insufficient. It would 
have answered his purpose better if he had set forth carefully, and 
insisted upon them, the points which made so strongly in his favour, 
that had the Lords duly considered them they could not choose but 
recommend him for clemency. Videlicet : first, that he was by birth 
a close relation to the Prince, of the same faith, and by education 
his personal friend and companion ; therefore, it was natural that 
he should desire his return. Next, that he was brought up abroad, 
and could not know the temper of the English people, so that he 
fell an easy prey to designing persons, and readily believed the state- 
ments of those who reported the nation as longing for the return 
of the Prince — yea, and that so vehemently that they would rush 
with one consent to arms were an example once set — for this, and 
nothing short of this, was represented to us by Captain Gascoigne 
and his friends. Next,' continued Mr. Hilyard, 'would I have 
counselled him to prove this plea by the fact that he drew with him, 
who might have enlisted a thousand men, no more than a few ser- 
vants, and that, when further resistance would have led to blood- 
shed, he consented to a surrender. And, lastly, he should have 
concluded with a moving appeal for clemency in the name of youth, 
inexperience, ignorance, and his tender family. Had I written this 
appeal for him,' said the honest man, wiping the tears which flowed 
down his face, ' I would have engaged upon his side every heart of 
sensibility in the country, whereas now they are all asking each 
other in wonder what means this naked plea of unpremeditation. 
Alas ! why — why — did no one ask my advice from the beginning ?' 

Mr. Hilyard was certainly one of those men who believe that 
without their own interference nothing is done well. London 
breeds such men in hundred* ; they swarm, I am told, in every 



THE LORDS' TRIAL. 273 

coffee house ; nay, in every mug-house they are found. They know 
the mistakes made by statesmen and by commanders ; they are able 
to show, after the thing is over, what ought to have been done. 
But, as regards himself, I am certain that had he been consulted, 
there would have been, first, no rising at all ; the Earl and my 
brother Tom would have surrendered to the warrants ; if any 
campaign, then one differently conducted ; if any surrender, then 
on better terms ; if any trial, then with more successful issue. 
And from the many discourses I have held with this one scholar, 1 
am sure that were our statesmen also scholars and persons versed 
in ancient history, the kingdoms of the world would be singularly 
preferred from external wars, civil tumults, and internal dissen- 
sions. 

A few days later, the Commons demanded that judgment should 
be pronounced upon the rebel lords. It must be observed that 
there was no trial at all ; they were impeached, examined, suffered 
to plead, and sentenced. After three weeks the Court of High Com- 
mission ordered that the prisoners should be brought before them. 
Lord Cowper was made Lord High Steward — that is, President of 
the Court. 

' Alas ! Dorothy,' said her ladyship. ' To think that they could 
find no one but my husband to sentence these unhappy lords, and 
two of them my own cousins ! And the servants must all havo 
new liveries !' 

Though the gallant show was prepared only to sentence seven 
brave men to death, all London (except the poor women who wept 
for them) turned out to see it, including the ' Jacks ' who had flung 
up their hats for the prisoners at the door of the Fountain. There 
was a great coach-procession to Westminster Hall, with gentlemen 
riding on horseback between the carriages, that of my Lord High 
Steward with six horses ; and all the way so great a cheering for 
King George and the Protestant Succession, and such banging and 
beating of warming-pans, you would have thought the town gone 
mad. (All this was reported to me, because it is not to be supposed 
that such as I would join the ladies who sat in the windows and 
waved their handkerchiefs to the judges on this awful occasion.) 

There was no noise or shouting, my informant told me, in West- 
minster Hall, the upper part of which was set with seats for tho 
Peers, and the lower part left free to spectators, who crowded the 
great Hall. Among the Peers sat the Prince of Wales , but he 
came not to judge so much as to look on, and showed in his face a 
singular concern as one after the other of the prisoners was brought 
forth. 

'As for us at the other end,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I think there was 
not one who exulted, but all regarded with sorrow and compassion 
the destruction of so many great and noble houses. When all were 
in their places, the Earl of Derwentwater was summoned first. 
Truly it must be an awful moment to stand before the assembled 
Peers of the realm, and to read in their eyes nothing but condemna- 
tion ; or, if pity, then condemnation as well. When ruy lord ad- 



274 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

vanced to the bar, all rose and bowed low, as if to show that pity as 
well as the respect due to his rank ; but he, for his part, fell upon his 
knees, where he remained until he was invited by the Lcrd High 
Steward to rise. Behind him walked the gentleman gaoler, carrying 
an axe upon his shoulder, the edge thereof turned from the prisoner. 

' I declare and shall ever maintain,' Mr. Hilyard continued, ' that 
his lordship hath been struck with judicial blindness. For, when 
he was asked what reasons he could allege, if any, to stay his punish- 
ment, and another opportunity was offered to move the hearts of 
his judges, he lost it or threw it away. Had I been in his place, I 
might and should have lacked the dignity which naturally belongs 
to one of his high rank. Yet I think I should have found the 
eloquence and the wit to make a better plea for my life. The 
Lords would like — nay, I saw their compassion in their eyes — they 
would like nothing better than to save him ; yet he will not help 
them. Why, oh ! why did he not remind the House that he had 
been brought up, in the very Court of St. Germain's, to believe that 
England was longing for the Prince to return ? Why did he not 
show them that he could not know the temper of the country, and 
must needs believe what he was told ? 

1 Alas ! he is no orator ; he repeated only what he had said before, 
that he had no guilty knowledge of any plot — further than this, 
that the friends of the Prince would gladly bring him back ; that 
his joining the insurgents was unpremeditated ; and that, in order 
to secure submission, he became a hostage. All that had been said 
before, and it availed nothing. I saw the faces of the Lords look 
at each other and grow hard. Why, what could they do when the 
prisoner did so little ? So they put him back and called the other 
six, of whom Lord Wintoun alone obtained respite for further pre- 
r iration of his defence.' 

Mr. Hilyard then gave me, as well as he could recollect it, Lord 
Cowper's speech on pronouncing the judgment of the Lords. This 
speech has been admired as a masterpiece of judicial oratory. I 
know not how that may be ; it was pleasing, no doubt, for the 
Whigs to hear of the wickedness of rebellion ; we are never tired of 
hearing those sins denounced which we never practise ; but for the 
lords awaiting their sentence, methinks the discourse might have 
been more merciful if it had been shorter. 

' As for their reception of the sentence,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' no 
hero of antiquity could hear his condemnation pronounced with 
greater coolness and courage than was shown by all. Methought as 
Lord Derwentwater followed the gaoler from the bar— this time the 
edge of the axe turned towards him — so marched the constant 
Regulus to his doom ; with such a face, set with the courage which 
is neither insensibility nor braggadocio, did the great Socrates go to. 
drink his poison. My heart burned within me to kneel and kiss 
his hand.' 

4 When,' I asked, * must they suffer ?' 

' I know not ; they talk of a fortnight. It is thought that by 
this great example the Government will show their strength. II 



THE LORDS' TRIAL. 275 

they were net strong, it is said, they would not dare to strike so 
determined a blow. As for the rest, the plain gentlemen, it is 
thought, even by the most revengeful, that they will be suffered to 
escape with their lives at least. But, Miss Dorothy, let us not 
trust to chance. Remember : the next trial, after Lord Wintoun's 
case is concluded, must be his honour's. Suffer me go talk with 
Mr. Pitts.' 

' Not yet, Mr. Hilyard. Give me yet a week or two.' 
' The clemency of a king,' Mr. Hilyard went on presently, ' is 
truly a great and generous thing when it is properly displayed. 
Towards criminals it should never be extended ; but to rebels, as 
much as may be. For it is better to forgive and to release, thereby 
showing the strength which has no fear, than to strike hard and 
show the strength which can revenge. Methinks in this case the 
King might be fitly counselled to let all go pardoned, yet punished 
by their defeat and ignominy, and by the loss of rank and estates, 
provided they promise to sit down in peace for the rest of their 
lives. Yet, if I were to say these things in a coffee-house, I should 
be kicked out of one and cudgelled in another, because the mob 
must have revenge. The Prince's friends themselves would rather 
see these men hanged with dignity than dismissed with contempt.' 

Much more he added on the subject of that kind of mercy which 
brings the culprit into contempt, arguing that great punishments do 
not deter others, and that those noblemen who have seen the pomp 
attending an execution on Tower Hill, are not likely to be deterred 
from rebellion by its recollection. Nay, rather the contrary ; for 
as in war everyone risks his life, if one must lose it, surely it is 
splendid to be the hero of so great a show. ' Thus in the lower 
classes,' he said, ' who are mostly insensible to pain, the procession 
of the cart, with the shouts of the people, all eyes turned toward 
the sufferer, the cries to the driver to whip up his horse, and to him 
who wields the cat to let it fall lightly — these things, I say, destroy 
the pain and substitute a kind of glory. Even in France, the wretch 
who goeth forth to have his limbs crushed upon the wheel bears his 
head erect and is of a bold countenance, because of the crowds who 
have come out to see him. Wherefore, for the better putting down 
of crime, let the whippings and the hangings be secret ; and for the 
better putting down of treason, let there be no executions, but only 
loss of estate and contempt. When scholars become ministers and 
philosophers statesmen, the world shall be better ordered.' 

Why did not Heaven make Mr. Hilyard the son of a noble house, 
since he could thus discourse so wisely ? 

I was told afterwards by Lady Cowper, from whom I learned 
at this time a great deal, that the unhappy Lord Derwentwater, 
being under examination by the Council, did himself much harm 
in his replies concerning a certain letter from the Prince. In 
this letter his Highness thanked him for the transmission of 
some moneys, said kind things concerning Colonel Thomas Rad- 
cliffe, and spoke hardly of Mr. Will Radcliffe, another of my 
lord's uncles, who liyed in Rome. The letter, which wag inter- 

1Q o 



276 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

ceptod I know not how, also furnished particulars concerning private 
persons, which enabled the Ministry to seize various papers of con- 
sequence. The prisoner seemed to the Council to trifle with them, 
treating the letter as an invention and a trick. Possibly he did this, 
out of the great kindness of his heart, in order to avoid implicating 
others ; because no one that I know ever had the least doubt that 
he kept up a correspondence with the Prince, his old playfellow. I 
cannot understand how Lady Cowper (who took all her opinions 
from her husband) could speak of his answer as showing what she 
called ill manners and foolish cunning. Certainly a man must try 
to screen his friends, and the Council must have known on what 
terms the Prince and Lord Derwentwater had always been. 

I have long considered and often debated with Mr. Hilyard the 
case of this trial, and the reasons why Lord Derwentwater and Lord 
Kenmure alone should have been executed, seeing that neither was 
worse than the other five, and that one of them was better (so to 
speak), because he might have brought into the field so many hun- 
dreds of men, and he brought none. Mr. Hilyard, who is now a 
confessed Whig and all for the Protestant Succession, agrees with 
rue that King George at first intended to sacrifice the whole seven, 
with as many of the gentlemen as he decently could, in order to 
strike terror. 

'We must remember,' he said, 'that, until hangings began in 
Liverpool and Preston, not one of the people in the north, whether 
prisoners or at large, believed that the King would dare hang any, 
so great was their delusion as regards the strength of the cause. 
But when the King saw how many of his friends would be struck, 
and their affections alienated by the deaths of these great lords, he 
began to consider which among them had the fewest friends. These 
were tjie Lords Derwentwater and Kenmure. As regards the former, 
his title was of so recent date that he had few cousins among the 
Lords, and his education having been abroad, he had no friends at 
all among his Peers. Therefore, it was resolved at last (even Lord 
Nithsdale being reprieved on the very day of his escape) that these 
two alone should be done to death.' 

I would say with regard to the astonishment of the North-country 
people at the sentences, and their stubborn belief in the cause, that 
the chief reason why so many held aloof, why those who came 
brought so few with them, and why the whole five counties of the 
north, Northumberland, Durham, Lancashire, Cumberland, and 
Westmoreland, did not all rise together, was that each man thought 
he should not be wanted, because his neighbours, who were sure to 
go, would suffice — one had business or was ill, or newly married — 
always some excuse ; and when the enterprise went from good to 
bad, and from bad to worse, all the more reason for sitting still, for 
why throw good money after bad ? Since I understood this, I have 
aeased from feeling indignation against those who ought to have 
come out, but who stayed at home. 



FRANK'S ATTEMPT. 23? 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Frank's attempt. 

And now, indeed, if anything was to be done, it was the time. A 9 
for my lord, he was already making his preparations for leaving the 
world, having little hope left of reprieve or pardon. Terrible as it 
is at any age, even when one is old and spent, to leave the light of 
the sun, the solace of friends and children, and those joys which 
belong alike to every time of life and to every condition, most 
terrible of all must it be to give up the world, which is full of every 
kind of joy and delight, to those who can command them, when one 
is young, a husband and a father, rich, beloved, and happy. Yet to 
this Lord Derwentwater cheerfully resigned himself. 

I suppose that never in the history of this country have con- 
demned prisoners found so many friends as these six lords. Nothing 
more clearly proves that England doth steadfastly refuse (whatever 
the Whigs may say) to confound adherence to the ancient House 
with high treason, a crime against which the English blood natur- 
ally shudders. Many have been executed for this crime, especially 
under Henry VIII. and the three Princes who came after him. 
But never once did any great lords exert themselves to save these 
criminals. Yet here were great lords and noblemen, Whigs all — 
that is to say, of the offended side — besieging the throne (occupied 
by a German Duke) for mercy, while even their public journals, 
and those red-hot pulpits which had bawled so loudly for revenge, 
now considered with horror the prospect of spilling this noble blood. 
The Princess of Wales herself, moved with womanly compassion, 
resolved to do her best, difficult though it was, to save one of the 
six, and chose Lord Carnwath for the object of her mercy. He was 
at this time but thirty years of age, said to be of great virtue and 
excellent parts, educated at Oxford. Nor was she deterred one whit 
from her purpose by the fact that his lordship's mother was a most 
violent and indiscreet woman, who went about declaring everywhere 
that her son would fall in a noble cause. She, therefore, sent Sir 
David Hamilton to him, telling him that his only hope lay in con- 
fession. Upon this the Earl wrote a letter, in which he confessed 
that he had gone to Lorraine and conversed with the Prince, and 
urged him to make very sure of his friends in England before he 
went to Scotland (which was sound advice, and, if the Prince had 
followed it, we had all been saved). He also said that he learned, 
from some of the Prince's company, that it was debated whether 
the King of Sweden should not be invited into Scotland, there to 
establish King James by force of arms. The revelation of this 
design, as nothing could do the Prince more harm, was, perhaps, of 
itself sufficient service to warrant the release of the prisoner. Alas ! 
that a righteous cause should be ruined by foolish counsellors ! It 
is now by French arms, now by Swedish, that the King is to be 
restored ! As if the proud English nation will ever receive a Prince 
thus imposed upon them ! In the end, Lord Carnwath was suffered 



278 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

to go free, but his honours were attainted, and he became a simple 
Scottish gentleman. As for the Countess of Nithsdale, the recol- 
lection of her gallant rescue of her husband always makes my blood 
to boil, because our own scheme, which was so safe and easy, was 
put out of our power by the act of Providence, as you shall learn 
presently. Lady Nithsdale did not, however, resort to this strata 
gem until she had first tried every method. She even waylaid the 
King on his passage to the Drawing Room from his own apart- 
ments. She held in her hands a petition, drawn up by her husband ; 
and as he passed she threw herself at his feet, crying out in French, 
so that he could not pretend not to understand, that she was the 
unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale. He made as if he would pass 
without attending, but she caught at the skirt of his coat ; he tried 
to tear it from her hand, and actually dragged her on her knees 
(was not this an act of Kingly clemency ?) to the very door of the 
Drawing Room, where two of the officers seized her, one by the 
waist and the other by the hands, and so tore her from the King's 
presence. 

Lady Derwentwater fared no better, except that, with a cruelty 
only equalled by James II. when he saw the Duke of Monmouth 
after trial, the King consented to receive her. The unhappy 
woman, who was accompanied by the Duchesses of Cleveland and 
Bolton and by many other great ladies, was presented to the King 
by the Dukes of St. Albans and Richmond, sons of Charles II., and 
therefore half-uncles to Lord Derwentwater. 

The Countess fell upon her knees (it was on Sunday, after Divine 
Service, when the heart should be naturally open to compassion, as 
being just absolved from sin and still repentant), and thereupon, in 
a kind of rapture, implored the King for mercy. Those who were 
present and heard her prayer have declared that never could they 
believe a woman able to speak so movingly, with such eloquence, 
such art (as it seemed, but it was only the art of great love and 
great mise*ry), such passion. Those who were with her wept aloud, 
and even among the gentlemen there was not a dry eye or a face 
unmoved — excepting only the King's. While every heart was bleed- 
ing, he alone stood listening with hard eyes and fixed lips, and 
presently suffered her to be led away without a word of hope. Her 
husband, he was resolved, should die. He was the youngest, the 
noblest, and the best of all ; he was no more deeply involved than 
the rest, but he was the friend and companion of the Prince ; 
therefore, he must be sent to his doom. Is it not wonderful that 
any man, much more wonderful a Prince, should be found not only 
bo vindictive, but so lost to honour and to shame, as thus to sport 
with the misery and despair of a woman, and take pleasure in seeing 
his victim's wife lying humbled at his feet ? 

Yet, I suppose to show some pretence of clemency, on the follow- 
ing day— namely, Monday, the 20th of February, four days before 
the execution — two noblemen went to the Tower, and offered my 
lord his life if he would acknowledge the title of King George and 
adopt the Protestant religion. The Earl refused (could a man of 



FXAA7CS ATTEMPT. 279 

honour accept these conditions ?), declaring that he would sooner 
lose his life than give up his faith. I heard these things, day by 
day, from Lady Cowper, and I believe no secret was made of them, 
for Mr. Hilyard heard them at the coffee-houses and in Newgate, 
whither he went daily, and where, you may suppose, the fate of the 
lords was watched with alternate hope and fear ; for, as those noble 
heads were brought nearer the block, every man felt his own neck 
tightened. 

The next day, being Tuesday, they sent two Protestant ministers 
to the Earl, begging that he would only send for some learned 
Divine of the Church of England, as if to consult on religious 
doubts. But my lord had no doubts, and would not pretend to any, 
even if thereby he might save his life. I could have wished, 
so that I could feel his future lot assured, that he had become a 
Protestant ; but to pretend religious doubts, to sell his faith for a 
few transitory years, this would have destroyed for ever the noble 
image that lived in my heart, and put in its place a poor and con- 
temptible creature indeed. 

Whilst the Countess and her great friends were vainly endeavour- 
ing the release of Lord Derwentwater, others were resolved to 
attempt it, and would have carried it out in much simpler fashion, 
but for fate, or rather Providence, which willed otherwise. Frank 
Radcliffe, like all persons in his sad condition, one day contemplated 
death with resignation, and the next looked forward with confidence 
to getting better in a few days. In one of the latter periods Jenny 
communicated to him her design, which we had hitherto hidden 
from him. Immediately he fell into a kind of fever in his anxiety 
to be the means of liberating his brother. He would go that very 
day — the next day, then. There must not be a moment lost. What 
did it matter if he were imprisoned, if only the Earl could be saved ? 
If he could not walk, he must be carried. 

' Cousin Dorothy,' the poor lad whispered, ' my life has been of 
very little account. What can a poor Catholic gentleman do in 
this country, which denies him everything ? I might have been a 
scholar, but you will not admit me to your Universities ; cr a 
statesman, but I may not enter Parliament ; or a soldier, but you 
will not suffer me so much as to carry the colours. Yet, am I not 
an Englishman ? Let me do one thing, at least, before I die. Do 
not tell Jenny, because I think she loves me ; but I believe that I 
am dying.' 

I told him (though I knew it was untrue) that he should not die, 
but recover and live ; yea, that he should do this brave thing. But 
my heart sank within me, for he was now so weak that he could 
not stand upon his feet or hold up his head, and his cough was so 
violent that it seemed to tear him asunder. He had no ease 
except when Jenny was with him, which could not be in the 
evenings. She charmed away his cough, and laid him, by that 
magic skill of hers, in a quiet slumber, during which, at least, he 
did not cough. I met the girl now without the repugnance which 
first I felt towards her, forgiving her deception in the matter of 



iSo DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the sorcery at Dilston, and even forgetting that she was an actress, 
and seeing in her the only woman who was able to alleviate his 
sufferings for this poor dying lad. What matter, now, that he was 
in love with her, or she so ambitious as to look for him to marry 
her? 

In these days, when each hour was of importance, Mr. Hilyard 
and I looked at each other with sad and despairing eyes, but dared 
not say what was in our hearts. Frank was dying ; the hopes that 
he built upon his likeness to his brother were fast fading. If ever 
he rose again from his bed, it would be after his unhappy brother 
was executed and buried. Yet Jenny, for one, could not believe it. 

' He is better,' she said every morning ; 'he is better and stronger 
than yesterday. Last night he slept. His physicians assure me he 
is easier. With one more good night's rest he will be strong again.' 

' Oh, Jenny !' I whispered, ' he will never be strong again !' But 
she shook her head impatiently, and would not listen. 

One morning, beside his bedside, while he slept, she told me, with 
many tears, how the poor lovesick boy followed her, without any en- 
couragement from herself, from place to place when she first began to 
play, so that it became a subject of ridicule and mirth for the com- 
pany ; how it was he who first gave her dresses in which to make a 
brave show upon the stage ; how he encouraged and exhorted her to 
study and practise and not to lose heart, but even before an audience 
of bumpkins and upon the boards of a barn to do her best and to 
speak out as if for a London audience ; how he took her from her 
strolling company and brought her to London and paid for her 
lodging, treating her with such honour as one doth not, alas ! always 
expect or often observe in a gentleman towards an actress, or a 
woman of her lowly origin ; how, at length, but not until her efforts 
were crowned with success, and she became almost at a leap a 
favourite of the great city and one of his Majesty's servants at 
Drury Lane, he asked her to marry him. 

' Oh, Miss Dorothy !' she said, ' you know me, what I am. Why, 
my father was a gipsy ; and as for me, I can conjure, tell fortunes, 
read the future, lie, steal, cozen, and cheat the eyes with any of 
them ; or better, because some are foolish and clumsy. Yet he 
would marry me— a gentleman would marry me ! I have plenty of 
lovers at my choice. But for marriage— no, indeed. It was I who 
kept him from going off with Mr. Charles last summer. What ! 
Let my man go lighting on other people's business ? Not I. What 
do I care for Prince or Pretender, this King and that ? He will 
marry me, as soon as he gets well ; and then I will leave the stage, 
and we will live somewhere retired, where no one will ask if I was 
once Jenny Lee, the actress. For look you, Miss Dorothy, I would 
not shame him.' 

'But he is a Catholic, Jenny. Would you, too, become a 
Catholic ?' 

She laughed. All the gipsy came into her face. 

'Why,' she said, 'for that matter I am a Protestant with you • 
if I go to the tents of my people, what aro they, and what am l' 



FRAMES ATTEMPT. aSi 

with them ? They lie in the sun ; they love the open air ; they 
whistle to the birds ; like the birds, they live to-day, and to-morrow 
they die, and are buried in the ditch, and so forgotten. But to live 
is enough for them. Oh that I were out of this town and in the 
open country, with Frank well and strong beside me ! What matter 
what he believes and calls his religion ? As soon as he gets well it 
shall be mine.' She spread her arms abroad and repeated, with a 
strange yearning look in her black eyes — poor Jenny ! — 'As soon as 
he gets well.' 

Now, all this time, Frank was lying in the sleep into which Jenny 
had thrown him. When she went away, at last, she made those 
motions with her hands which always awakened him. He was 
easier, it seemed, but his voice was low. She kissed him on the 
forehead, bade him keep quiet and sleep if he could, and left us. I 
was to stay with him all the evening. 

' Tell me again,' he whispered, ' what I am to do in order to rescue 
my brother James.' 

Alas ! It was already Saturday ; the fatal day was fixed for the 
following Thursday ; though that we knew not. But I knew very 
well that the day was now very near. 

' Do not speak, then, Frank, but listen.' So I told him all over 
again, just as one tells a child the same story till he knows it by 
heart, and yet must have it told over again, that he was to be dis- 
guised with false eyebrows and paint, and so, with Jenny, gain 
admittance to his brother's cell, and then — but I have already told 
the scheme, which was as simple as it was clever. He felt so easy 
this evening, though weak, that it pleased him to imagine himself 
carrying out this brave project. 

In the evening, when he had taken some broth, he felt, he said, his 
strength returning fast, and tried to sit up, but with no great success. 

' Sometimes,' he told me, ' I wake in the night cold and shivering, 
and feel as if the dews of death were already upon my forehead ; 
sometimes I awake full of courage, and, though in the darkness, 
think to see my life stretching far before me, with Jenny in my 
arms. I am resolved what I shall do when I recover. I sball marry 
her without delay, and take her from the theatre (where her ambi- 
tion has been sufficiently gratified), and so away to the country ; or, 
perhaps, to France, where we will live retired, and meditate.' Then 
he spoke of the joys of a country life, and how among such simple 
pleasures as books, a garden, and the open air, the years would 
peacef ally slip away. ' I want no more,' he said. 'Perhaps I for- 
merly asked too much of Heaven. Who am I that I should sigh 
for distinction and honour ? What profit would they be to me 
beside a calm and peaceful life with the woman I love ? Let others 
care for these things.' 

I asked him, seeing that it gave him no pain to speak, how it was 
that he fell in love with Jenny. 

' I know not how,' he replied. ' Perhaps it was because I found 
with her, from the very first, a strange rest ; she seems to know be- 
forehand what are my very thoughts and what I wish. Besides, sha 



283 DOROTH Y FORi> TER. 

is, as everybody confesses, the most beautiful of women as well as 
the most sprightly, the most bewitching, and the most witty. How 
do I know why I love her ?' 

All this he said, and more, in broken discourse, as he felt able to 
talk. In the intervals I read to him or talked to him ; nor did i 
leave him until it was time for him to go to bed, whither his land- 
lady's two strapping sons carried him first, and then guarded me, 
armed with stout sticks — for the streets were full of rough and 
desperate men — to my own lodging. 

I knew not that I had talked with a dying man. Yet in the 
morning, when they took him his cup of broth, they found him 
lying cold and dead. His soul had passed away in sleep, and he lay, 
his head upon his hand, calm, peaceful, and with a smile upon his 
thin and wasted lips. As for his face, when we looked upon it, it 
was so like his brother's, that one trembled and felt cold, knowing 
that before many days, as poor Frank's face looked now, so would 
look that other, cold in death. 

Mr. Hilyard brought me the dreadful news. Poor Frank ! We 
wept not so much for him as for the ruin of our hopes ; for now 
our last chance was gone. Yet one might well have wept for the 
shortness of a life which seemed born for happiness. The curse of 
the Stuarts had fallen also upon the Radcliffes ; better had it been 
for them, a thousand times better, had they married with their own 
people, and remained plain country knights. 

In the chamber where lay the dead man upon the bed (was it 
possible that the cold face, so white and still, was but last night 
full of hope and life, and the fixed eyes full of light ?) sat Jenny 
Lee, her hands clasped, not crying or sobbing, but as one in a trance. 
I tried such words of comfort as one attempts in the hour of sorrow; 
but they were vain. Mr. Hilyard addressed her, ordering her to 
seek relief in prayer and resignation ; but she shook her head. Who 
shall comfort a woman in the first moments of her bereavement ? 
Frank was dead. Why, then, leave poor Jenny awhile alone with 
her senseless corpse. Come out and shut the door. 

Frank was dead ; and with him died the last of our hopes. 

' Mine,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' have been dead since I saw that he 
could never more leave his chamber. Had that poor lad been strong, 
we had made such a gallant rescue as would have made all England 
to ring with the story. But he is dead. Poor Jenny ! It was for 
his sake that she took care of her reputation and is blameless. Now 
he is gone — why — poor Jenny!' 

Presently she came forth, still with dry eyes. 

'He was a Catholic,' she said. 'Let us remember that when he 
is buried. Will you look to his funeral, Mr. Hilyard ? His religion 
did not, you see, prevent him from dying so young, any more than 
if he had been a gipsy lying in a ditch. No matter ; I am hence- 
forth of his religion.' 

We made no reply. She looked about the room, and gathered 
together two or three books. 



FRANK'S ATTEMPT 2S3 

'These, she said, 'I will take, because they are mine, with my 
own name in them ; and if any of his friends caro to see where and 
how he died, it will be well not to let them feel ashamed because he 
loved an actress. Oh, Miss Dorothy !' she burst into tears and fell 
to kissing my hands ; 'it is for you I am crying, not for myself ; 
for Frank is dead, and there is no one now to rescue my lord, who 
will surely die. 

It was Sunday morning ; at that very moment the Countess was 
pouring out her passionate prayer for mercy, and the King was 
listening with stony eyes and hardened heart. There was now no 
room for help or hope ; but he must die. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

MY LORD'S LAST DAYS. 

Let me return to the last days of Lord Derwentwater, who, perhaps 
(but of this I am not sure), never heard of his brother's death. 

The chief clergyman, or priest, of the Roman Catholic Church in 
London was then the Reverend Bonaventura Gifford, commonly 
called in their ecclesiastical manner the Vicar Apostolic. Immedi* 
ately after sentence had been pronounced, this learned Father 
applied for permission to administer spiritual consolation and the 
offices of the Church to this man about to die. For some reason 
which I know not, this permission was refused, and Dr. Gifford 
denied admission to the prisoner. The Government, however, con- 
sented that a certain Father Pippard, a simple priest, should attend 
him during the fortnight between sentence and execution. 

I have seen and have copied out with my own hand a letter in 
which this pious man set down all that he remembered concerning 
my lord's last days upon the earth. From the beginning, though 
not without hope (even the meanest and vilest criminal never, I 
suppose, abandons hope till the cart moves from under his feet, 
much more this innocent victim), he resigned himself to the steady 
and fearless contemplation of death, and gave himself over alto- 
gether to those religious exercises that were ordered by his spiritual 
advisers, together with the reading of such books as were most 
proper for a man so soon about to be summoned before his Judge. 
Thus, each morning he read, as directed, a chapter or two of the 
New Testament, and especially those of our Lord's Passion, with 
some portion of the ' Following of Christ,' ' The Confessions of 
Saint Austin,' and other good books chosen for him by his adviser. 
Methinks nothing in the world can so smooth a death-bed and 
console a dying man as the memory of having written a good 
book for the consolation of sorrowful and stricken souls and the 
strengthening of faith for those about to die. (Poor Frank had 
no such interval of meditation and prayer.) Chiefly my lord read 
with wonderful satisfaction, the good priest said, the edifying 
history of a certain Italian youth, who for some crime — I know not 
of what nature, or perhaps unjustly, like Lord Derwentwater — was 
condemned to death, but fell into so beautiful a repentance, and so 



284 DOROTHY FORSTKR. 

heartily prayed, meditated, and fasted, that he made of the death 
which he could not avoid a voluntary sacrifice of himself, his life, 
and affections, before the throne of God, thereby imitating the 
blessed example of Him who, though it was ordained by His 
Heavenly Father that He should drink the chalice, yet did it 
voluntarily and of His own free will and consent. This example 
my lord proposed to follow. 

Further, when they came — not once, but several times — to offer 
him his life if he would change his religion, which was a most 
wicked and a most diabolical temptation to lay before so young 
and so fortunate a man, with all earth's pleasures before him, he 
refused without the least hesitation or doubt. ' And this,' said 
Father Pippard's letter, ' he told me with the greatest transport of 
joy, that having refused his life on such terms, he hoped it was not 
now making a virtue of necessity ; that, had he a thousand lives, he 
would sooner part with them than renounce his faith ; and, with 
tears of joy in his eyes, he humbly thanked God for giving him 
this opportunity of testifying his love for Him.' Not once, but 
twice, they troubled him with this offer, which was as insulting to 
the honour of the Earl as it was disgraceful to the humanity of 
those who proposed this temptation. Whoever they were, they 
entreated him earnestly, even on the day before his execution, that 
he would make some sign, as it were, of doubt concerning the 
Articles of the Roman Catholic Faith, if only to borrow a book of 
Protestant controversy. But he steadfastly refused to beg his life 
on these terms. I have sometimes thought that possibly it was the 
Archbishop of Canterbury who was thus anxious to find an excuse 
for begging a reprieve. Everybody knows well that there were 
some, even among the Ministers and in the Privy Council, who 
would gladly have seen him pardoned, if only a show of reason 
could be arrived at with which to move the King. But without 
such excuse there was no possibility of further interference, and 
bo the law must take its course. 

One more chance remained, and it was the last. The Countess 
had appealed in person to the King, but without avail ; she would 
now appeal to the Houses of Parliament. On Tuesday this noble 
and courageous woman, accompanied by a large number of ladies, 
her friends, went to the House of Lords with a petition, which was 
presented by the Duke of Richmond. The petition was supported 
by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and, which was thought a most 
remarkable thing, by the Earl of Nottingham, one of the Ministers. 
In the end, the House moved that an address be presented to the 
King, that he should reprieve such of the condemned lords as 
should deserve his mercy. A motion to the same effect was made 
in the House of Commons, but was rejected by a majority of 
seven, some of the speakers against it being very violent. 

The interference of the lords did no good, except to anger and 
harden the King so far as Lord Derwentwater's case was concerned-, 
but on Wednesday, Lord Widdrington and Lord Carnwath were 
reprieved. Lord Nairn had already been reprieved through the 



MY LORD'S LAST DA YS. 285 

instance of Lord Stanhope, who declared that he would resign his 
office if his old school-fellow at Eton was not pardoned. On 
Thursday, though he knew it not, and escaped on that same day, 
Lord Nithsdale was also reprieved. It is therefore clear that from 
the beginning it was resolved to make an example in the person of 
the youngest and the least guilty (supposing there is any guilt in 
taking up arms for your lawful Sovereign). 

On Thursday, when three out of the seven lords were already 
reprieved, the Countess made another effort to see the King. She 
was, as before, accompanied by her friends. But the King this 
time obstinately refused to see her, and gave her to understand 
that her husband's execution would take place the next morning. 

Then at last she ceased her exertions, and went to the Tower for 
her last most sad and sorrowful parting with her husband, the thing 
dreaded by him far more than the executioner's axe, insomuch that 
he had begged her, through Lord Widdrington, to take her last 
farewell a week before, in order that his last moments might be 
wholly given up to God. But this was too hard for her to bear, 
and he was overruled. Father Pippard wrote in that letter of his, 
' No man could have a greater regard and tenderness for his wife 
than he had for you, and I think there could not be a greater argu- 
ment of it than this, that when he seemed to be raised above the 
sentiments of the world in everything else, he had not quite got 
the better of himself in regard to your ladyship, though even here 
he appeared wonderful to me. For the last morning your ladyship 
parted from him I was surprised to find him so composed ; and, 
congratulating his lordship upon the victory he had gained over his 
affections, he answered that you had been, both of you, upon your 
knees begging that favour of God, for nigh a quarter of an hour 
before you took leave of each other.' 

Nothing more sorrowful can te thought of than the picture of 
that unhappy pair kneeling side by side to pray that they might so 
gain the victory over their affections as to part with each other with 
resignation. It cannot be a part of religion— I cannot bring myself 
to think that it is — for a man thus on the point of death to tear his 
wife out of his heart, or for her to let him go out of hers. Rather 
should they thank Heaven for the earthly love they have enjoyed 
together, and pray that it may be continued and glorified in the 
heavenly world, so that they may together experience the joys of 
that blessed abode, and be the more happy in knowing of each 
other's bliss. But perhaps Catholics think differently, and although 
they have made marriage into a sacrament (without Scriptural 
warrant), they have ever been harsh as regards their opinion of 
women. 

Every year, once, on the day of my lord's execution, I read this 
letter of Father Pippard with tears, and I make no doubt that his 
widow did the same ; for she never smiled after her husband's 
death, but slowly wasted away, and some years later died, being 
then not yet thirty, poor soul I (It was in Louvain that she died, 
stud lies buried in the English convent there, having been a most 



586 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

pious woman, and strict in the practice of all th3 duties enjoined 
by her Church.) 

During that last fortnight the Earl talked continually, while the 
Countess was with him (this she told me herself), of his early days 
and the few events of his short life, just as old men soon about to 
die love to think of the days when they were young and strong. 
He spoke of his education at St. Germain's, of his return to his 
native country and the greetings of his friends and cousins, of the 
summer he spent chiefly in my society, speaking of me, even at 
such a time, in words of kindness which I can never forget, and 
recall with a kind of pride that so great and noble a heart should 
deceive himself into imagining that I possessed those great qualities 
which he ascribed to me. It is only a good heart which thinks 
others good. He even sent me a last gift in token of his regard 
and affection for me, and in memory of our former friendship. 
' Give Dorothy for me,' he said, 'with my love and prayer for her 
welfare— something— whatever thou wilt. But let it be something 
which I have given to thee, sweetheart, since we married. This 
she will value most.' 

Surely never was there a more loyal and generous man. Ho 
wished me to feel that he had never forgotten me ; but, withal, I 
must learn that he loved me with an affection pure and free from 
earthly passion, as he desired my affection to be towards him ; and 
this he would show by giving me something which he had given 
to his wife ; this I need not be ashamed as a virtuous woman to 
receive, nor he as a Christian man to offer ; nor she, as one who 
wholly possessed his heart, to give. 

In this spirit I accepted the ring of topaz and amethyst which the 
Countess drew from her finger and put upon mine, kissing me with 
abundance of tears, and saying : 

' Did you ever hear the like, Dorothy, that one woman should 
give to another a gift from her husband and yet not be jealous ! 
Yet, dear Dorothy, I have known all along how much he oontinued 
to love you and esteem you, and that without the least suspicion or 
touch of jealousy, so true he was, and open in all that he did and 
said, and so sure was I that I owned all his heart.' 

She did indeed, and I could now think of it without bitterness, 
though there was once a time when I wondered how men could so 
change their heart as to be all for one woman in the spring, so to 
speak, and all for another in the summer. For sure and certain 
my lord bad no eyes for any other woman, save in the way of 
honest and friendly affection, after he was married ; and to hint 
she was a good and loyal wife, though (because she was human) 
not wholly free from certain small imperfections which sometimes 
caused rubs, due to quickness of temper and the like, of which we 
know. 

But oh ! to think that in this, his last mortal agony, being at the 
very threshold of death, in the anteroom of the Great Judgment 
Hall, a soul trembling in the presence of his Maker, engaged in 
earnest repentance, and anxiously seeking assurance of forgiveness,, 



MY LORD'S LAST DA VS. 287 

he should have thought of me ! I have tfcrired in my will that this 
ring, with one other thing, be buried with me in my coffin. 

I asked the Countess hew he looked on this his last day. She 
told that for want of the fresh air and riding exercises, to which he 
was accustomed, he was pale of cheek ; but that, owing to the fast- 
ing diet which he thought becoming to one in his position, he was 
grown thin, and his eyes were brighter than of ordinary. For the 
rest, he was grave, and smiled no longer (could one ever forget the 
sweet smile that always played upon his lips and the kind light that 
lay in his eyes?). He shed few tears (save that at parting with 
his wife he gave one sob), because he was so brave and resolute by 
nature, and because, by special grace of Heaven, he was enabled to 
look upon the separation as for a brief space only. But he wept 
bitterly when he parted from his infant children, praying Heaven 
to protect his boy — then two years old, and like an angel for beauty 
— and his infant daughter. (The boy is since dead, being killed by 
an accident at nineteen years ; but the girl, Lady Anna, is not long 
since married to a Catholic Peer, the Lord Petre, whose uncle 
married her aunt, my lord's sister. May she be blessed with a long 
life and many children !) 

On Thursday morning my lord received a letter from the Vicar 
Apostolic, which afforded him great consolation, although, to hear 
some men talk and to read some things written, there is nothing in 
al) that religion but hypocrisy and deceits. As if we are not all 
men and women — that is to say, mortal and doomed to die, and 
after death the next world ; wherefore, though I doubt not the 
exceeding wickedness and cruelty of many Popes, Inquisitors, and 
Cardinals, needs must that they, as well as we ourselves, sometimes 
contemplate soberly and with prayer the condition of their souls, 
and especially at the awful time when death is appointed and now 
nigh at hand. The Vicar's letter, therefore, which I have seen — 
and a most beautiful and truly religious letter it is — gave my lord 
great support, and even happiness. On that day he confessed, com- 
municated, and heard Mass, together with Lord Widdrington ; for 
several days before his death he steadfastly fasted, and refused to 
take any wine, although he suffered from a grievous cough. As for 
fasting, that is no doubt a help to most of us in spiritual things, as 
it leaves the brain free from the gross humours generated by strong 
meat, and in a manner clears away from the eyes the mists which 
obscure our sight and sense of heavenly things. 

' But,' said Father Pippard, in that memorandum of his, ' he 
wanted none of these helps, for he was visibly helped with an extra- 
ordinary grace, which appeared in his countenance and in all his 
behaviour, to the admiration of all that beheld him.' 

In the evening before his execution he sat up writing letters of 
farewell to his wife, his mother, his brother Charles, and others. 
In the first, which the poor soul showed to me, he said that Lord 
J^ithsdale had escaped. Alas ! tho news of that escape fell upon 
our hearts (I mean on miut; especially) as a reproach. For we 



288 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

should Lave rased something of the same way with Lord Derwent- 
water had it not been ordered otherwise. As regards his brother 
Charles, it is sad to relate that Lord Townshend, Secretary of State, 
forbade his taking leave of his brother, so great was the rancour 
with which these young men were regarded. (It is very well known 
how Charles afterwards escaped from Newgate while under sentence 
of death. A few years later he married the Countess of Newburgh 
in her own right, and hath children, so that the noble line of Rad- 
cliffe will be continued, with another title and rank equal to that 
which has been lost.) 

As for what passed in the Tower on the morning of the execution, 
it was related in the conclusion of Father Pippard's letter. He said 
that he went early to the Tower, not expecting to be admitted, but, 
contrary to his expectation, being permitted to pass into the Earl's 
room, he found Lord Widdrington with him, and both on their 
knees at prayers ; but with this difference, that Lord Widdrington 
could not read his for the weeping and tears which choked his voice 
while Lord Derwentwater was reading his aloud, and with a sedate 
and audible voice. Whereupon Father Pippard at first, and hastily, 
concluded that the latter had been reprieved and the former sen- 
tenced. But it was the contrary : for Lord Widdrington had come 
to tell his brother prisoner that he himself had received a reprieve 
(the news was not brought to him until eight o'clock that morning), 
and he was weeping to see the constancy, resignation, and Christian 
grace displayed by his brother-in-arms, who was to suffer what he 
himself escaped. 

Presently word was brought that the coaches were come for the 
two who were to be executed. Wherefore Father Pippard begged 
Lord Widdrington to say anything he had to say as quickly as he 
could. But all he had to say was, with many tears, that if he were 
to live a thousand years he should never forget the courage and 
resignation which he that day witnessed. So he went away, and 
Lord Derwentwater betook himself to confession and prayers ; 
which done, he walked down to the coach, even the keepers, buf- 
fetiers, and guards — yea, and the common soldiers, being dissolved 
in tears, and he alone preserving a calm and composed countenance. 

My lord was dressed becomingly in black velvet, wearing a beaver 
hat with a black plume, black hose, and black leather shoes with 
silver buckles. Round his neck was hanging a gold crucifix, and in 
his hand he carried a book of devotion. Before reaching the scaf- 
fold he was joined by the Vicar Apostolic. Then, I suppose for 
form's sake, he was again offertd his life if he would renounce his 
faith and his loyalty ; but he pui the oifer by gravely, saying that it 
would be too dear a purchase. 

When they came to the City Bars the sheriffs informed him that 
they had prepared a room for him near the scaffold, in case he de- 
Hired to retire for a time. He thanked them, and accepted their 
offer, spending half an hour with the priests in prayer. Lord 
Kenmure, who was Accompanied by bis eldest sou, joined him in 
this dismal chamber. 



MY L.UKVS LAST DAYS. 2S9 

Then came the last scene — the shedding of that noble blood and 
the flight of that sweet soul to heaven. Even if the Romish doc- 
trine of Purgatory were true, of which we have no Scriptural 
warrant (though the thought must be consoling to many a poor 
mother whose son has been cut off in open sin), I cannot but be- 
lieve that the sacrifice of a life thus laid down as a voluntary offer- 
ing, according to the teaching of the priests, and with many heart- 
felt prayers, must have been received, and that Lord Derwentwater'a 
soul is now at peace and in happiness among the blessed. 

Mr. Hilyard was among those who stood on Tower Hill to see the 
sad sight. I believe that the people of London take a peculiar 
pleasure in witnessing spectacles the thought of which fills one's 
heart with horror, so that whether it be a wretch in a pillory, or a 
hussy being whipped before an alderman, or a rogue flogged at a 
cart-tail, or a hanging at Tyburn, or a beheading on Tower Hill, 
they cannot choose but sally forth and stand in thousands — yea, and 
for hours together, so eager are they to behold the deportment and 
carriage of the sufferer, comparing him with others, his predecessors, 
applauding or reproving, according to his courage or his cowardice. 
Mr. Hilyard, whatever else he might be, was always a Londoner. 
Something of the same temper, I suppose, was possessed by the 
Athenians, who were always running after some new thing. 

' There was never,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' so great a crowd of people 
gathered together on Tower Hill ; men were there of every condi- 
tion, with fine ladies in the windows ; and though many thought 
that the punishment was just, there were none (of those who stood 
around me) but thought it excessive. For why, all men asked, 
were Lord Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure condemned, and the 
rest reprieved ? What had these two done worse than those who 
were with them ? Why was not Lord Widdrington, who was older, 
and should have been wiser, with them ? Such questions passed 
from one to the other, not in whispers, but loudly, so that I think 
the character of the King will hardly gain, whatever may be the 
effect of these punishments in the north. Truly, as is said by 
Solomon, " Mercy and truth preserve the king : and his throne is 
upholden by mercy." 

' The crowd began at daybreak, even before ; nay, there were 
persons who came on the night before, and made fires on Tower 
Hill to warm them by, for the night was very cold. There was 
some idle talk about a rescue, and of destroying the scaffold ; but 
that passed away, and, indeed, the Jacobites in these days have to 
keep snug. Yet they were on Tower Hill by hundreds, and were 
cursing the Hanoverian in whispers, and shedding tears for the two 
lords long before the time for the execution. 

' I first saw my lord when he came forth from the chamber which 
the sheriffs caused to be made for him. Sir John Fryer went before 
him. After him came two Popish priests and a great company, 
though who they were I know not. When he mounted the steps 
and stood upon the black scaffold before all the people, his face was 
pale, but his eye was s+£»°<i« iv »ny thinking he looked upon the 

10 



zgo DOROTHY fiOKSTHK. 

great multitude much as, in the persecution of Diocletian, a Chris- 
tian martyr may have looked upon the gaping crowds assembled to 
see him die, and to wonder why he could not save his life by a 
pinch of incense. Then a silence fell upon all, save for the sobs of 
some and the muttered prayers of others, so that you would have 
thought yourself in some great church ' 

A church, indeed ! For such an occasion the Tower Hill was 
nothing but the temple of the living God, and the scaffold was an 
alta/ of sacrifice, and my lord a true martyr and confessor of his 
faith and loyalty. 

' He spoke a few words to Sir John Fryer, and then, kneeling 
down before us all, prayed for a good while. But none of the 
crowd spake or moved, and I saw the tears running down all cheeks. 
This done, he rose and spoke earnestly for a minute or two with 
one of the sheriffs, and taking a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, 
and read in a steady, loud voice, so that all might hear, his last 
dying speech and confession. Confession, I call it, because he con- 
fessed and declared manfully that he owned allegiance to none but 
the Prince, his lawful King ; and if it seemed otherwise by his plea 
of guilty, he begged that he might be understood as not intending 
to acknowledge King George as his lawful Sovereign. Why, it 
seems to me, so noble and so manful was his speech, that were 
there in this realm but half-a-dozen like unto him, so noble and so 
generous, the Protestant Succession would be ruined. 

' This done, he repeated a penitential Psalm, and uttered audibly 
(many of the people saying " Amen !" after him, as if they were in 
church) certain ejaculations. After this he knelt in prayer once 
more, and this time many of the company on the scaffold — even the 
executioner himself — knelt and prayed with him, weeping. He 
then rose and removed his wig and coat, which the keeper should 
have had, but the executioner claimed as his own ; and there was 
an unseemly dispute, during which my lord stood quiet, only whis- 
pering a few words to one of the priests. This settled, he examined 
the block, and pointed out very calmly a rough place which might 
hurt his neck. That roughness the executioner made smooth with 
his axe. 

' After this, he said in a loud voice, so that all should hear : " I 
forgive all that are concerned in my execution, and I forgive all 
the world." 

' According to custom, the executioner asked his forgiveness. 
Then, all being done, he knelt and laid his head upon the block. I 
suppose that he gave certain instructions to the headsman. One of 
the priests bent over him and gave him, as I understood the gesture, 
the last absolution as to one in articulo mortis. Then he said in a 
loud voice : " Dear Jesus, be merciful to me. Dear Jesus, be 

merciful to me. Dear Jesus " Then fell the axe, and at a 

single blow tne nead was severed from the body.' 

Here Mr. Hilyard stopped in his narrative, and we wept together. 

What have any, of all those who knew and loved that gallant 
"oath done since but weep and cry at the mere thought of his 



M V LORD'S LAST DA YS. 



291 



noble death, and the cruel loss to all ? Yet weeping will not bring 
him back. Oh ! if every tear shed that day had been a drop of 
molten lead, there was one woman who would have rejoiced to pour 
all upon the head of the hard and revengeful George, then called 
King of this realm ! George hath now gone to his account, and I 
hope that this woman was Christian enough before he died to pray 
that this heavy sin might be forgiven him. 

The Earl's servant, Francis Wilson, received the head in a red 
velvet cloth, and carried it away with him, no one molesting him. 
The body, no coffin or hearse having been provided, was laid in a 
hackney coach, and so taken to the Tower, where it lay for three 
days, when it was taken away by night to a surgeon, who embalmed 
it and laid it in a coffin with the head. The coffin was carried first 
to Dagenham Park, near Romford, where the widowed Countess 
was residing for a time, and thence, travelling by night, it was 
taken to Dilston, and buried in his own chapel. His heart was 
placed in a casket and sent to Angers, where it was given to a 
convent of English nuns. 

As for the Prince, for whose sake this and so many other lives 
were laid down, he had already fled from Scotland and landed at 
Gravelines two days before Lord Derwentwater's death, and I know 
not what were his emotions on hearing of his early friend's tragic 
end. But the Queen-mother was deeply affected. I saw the 
Countess once more before I left London ; she was then staying at 
a house in the country, not far from London, called Kensington 
Gravel Pits. She was composed and resigned, but the old vivacity 
was gone, and her once bright eyes were dull. She confessed that 
it was her duty to live for the children, but for whom she would 
have prayed for death. Sad it was to see the sweet, fair-haired boy, 
not yet four years old, clinging to his mother's knee, wondering 
why her eves were always full of tears. They could not take away 
the child's estates, because in them the Earl had only a life-interest ; 
but he had lost his title, though everyone always called him the 
Earl. What mattered title or estate if he had not also lost his father? 
We talked very movingly together for some hours, confessing to 
each other that we had done foolishly and ignorantly (yet we be- 
lieved what we were told, and what can women do more ?) in urging 
on men who were so full of loyalty, and yet hesitated to strike, 
being better acquainted than we were with the dangers and the 
consequences. Yet we agreed that the cause was most just and 
righteous, and must prosper in the end if England is to look for 
peace and Heaven's blessing. But for a long time there could be 
no hope of success unless in the changed temper of the people. 

It was on this, the last time I saw her, that she gave me the 
precious gift of her dead husband, with the words which he wished 
her to use. I have already spoken of this gift. So we parted, with 
kisses and more tears, and J saw the poor distracted creature no 
more. 

19—2 



293 DOROTHY FORSTER 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

TOM'S ESCArK. 

All the story which I set myself to tell has now been written down, 
except only the manner and way of Tom's escape from Newgate, 
which was as follows. We were not neglecting his affairs all the 
while ; and Mr. Hilyard, as I have said, had found an honest sea 
captain. The man who was recommended to him was a certain 
smuggler or fisherman, named Shipman — a good name for one in 
his profession — who had a fast-sailing schooner or hoy, in which he 
carried on his trade. We were assured that we could thoroughly 
trust this man, and that, whether for carrying a cargo of Nantz, or 
parcel of lace, or a Jacobite gentleman, or a highwayman, or a Jesuit 
priest, or any other secret commodity, backwards or forwards across 
the water, the man had not his equal, whether for safety, secrecy, or 
despatch. His terms were high ; but then, in such times, one must 
pay for honesty. Thus, we were to give him fifty guineas for land- 
ing Tom upon the coast of France ; but he knew beforehand that 
he had to do with a prisoner of distinction, for whose capture a 
much larger sum than fifty guineas would be offered. Surely a man 
who takes fifty guineas, and keeps his word, when treachery would 
have given him a thousand pounds, is worth waiting for. 

We waited for him, therefore, until the end of February, when 
Mr. Hilyard found him, opened negotiations, and presently took me 
to meet him at a place called Limehouse. In appearance he was 
quite another guess kind of fellow from the other, the Judas Iscariot 
captain of Wapping, having a rough and honest face, with clear eyes, 
which looked straight. We soon came to terms. He declared that 
he could not afford to take less than fifty guineas for the trip ; that 
times like these were brisk for honest sailors like himself, who 
troubled not themselves about party matters, and cared not a sour 
herring which was King and which Pretender ; and that he must 
make the best of his market. He then gavo us to understand that 
the gentleman (whose name he knew not, and said he desired not to 
know, nor why he wished to leave his native shores) would not be 
the first by a great many whom he had carried across to France, and 
not one caught yet. For his own part, the more the merrier, and all 
the better for his old woman and the children : and he should net 
care if the Pretender's friends had a rising every month, nor if ho 
was asked to carry King George himself and the Prince of Wales 
serosa to Holland out of the way. The fellow was so hearty, and 
had so honest a face, that one could not choose but trust him. 
Therefore I agreed, and instructed Mr. Hilyard to make all other 
arrangements with him, as that he was not to have his money till 
his passenger was on board and the ship ready to drop Cown stream • 
that he was to be anchored off Leigh, in Esser, so as to avoid 
suspicion ; and that he was, as soon as he h:id his schooner ready for 
sailing, to come to London, there to be at our service. 

This done, I began to clench the business with my friendly 



TOM'S ESCAPE. 293 

turnkey. Nota bene that, all through these troubles of Frmk 
Radcliffe's illness and my lord's execution, either Mr. Hilyard or 
myself went daily to Newgate to cheer and encourage Tom, whose 
courage was now, what with the backsliding of his chaplain and the 
fate of Lord Derwentwater, as one may say, sunk down into his 
boots, almost beyond the power of a bottle to lift it up, nor did he 
derive any satisfaction save from his continual cursing of Mr. 
Patten. We were so careful lest he should in his cups say a word 
which might cause suspicion, that we told him nothing of our design. 

Now, however, that we had secured our ship, it was necessary, 
without further delay, to open the business more fully with my 
friendly warden, Jonas. If he failed, but not unless, Mr. Hilyard 
should go to the honest Pitts, the Governor, and promise that greedy 
rogue all he asked. Therefore I went to the prison, where the 
worthy Jonas sat in the lobby or anteroom ; but, instead of going 
straight through, I stopped, and pulling out my handkerchief, began 
to cry and to wipe my eyes. 

'Alas !' I said, ' the trials must soon come on. Think you, good 
Jonas, that my brother's case will be the first ?' 

' That, your ladyship,' he replied, jingling his keys, ' is more than 
we wardens know. First or last matters little, considering what the 
end must be.' 

'Lady Nithsdale,' I went on — 'ah! happy woman! — is said to 
have found a friend and helper among the guards of the Tower. 
But then, the Tower is not Newgate.' 

' Belike she did,' he replied. ' Friends can always be found, even 
in Newgate, by the unhappy, if they go the right way to work.' 

' Ah !' I whispered, ' would to Heaven that I could find such a 
compassionate heart in Newgate, and how richly would I reward 
him !' I observed that his eyes twinkled and his ringers clutched as 
though already grasping the reward. 

' Why,' he said, ' as for that, and if it could be done without Mr. 
Pitts' knowledge, and was made well worth a body's while—' 

' What do you call, Mr. Jonas, worth a body's while ?' 

' Why, to be plain, madam,' he said, ' do you think I did not know 
your tricks and your ways when you began with your soft looks and 
your guinea here and your half a guinea there, what it meant ? 
Let us come to business without further shilly-shally. What is it 
you want me to do, and for how much ?' 

' As for what I want you to do,' I replied, ' it is simple and easy, 
and I will tell you presently ; as for the reward, you shall have 
something in hand — say ten guineas ; but until General Forster is 
safe across the water, not a penny more.' 

4 1 cannot send him across the water. But still — how much will 
your ladyship offer '?' 

4 Why — shall I say fifty guineas ?' 

He laughed in my face. 

' Fifty guineas ! Why, he was the General of the Forces and he 
is a Member of Parliament ! Fifty guineas for the Man under the 
Rose ? Sure, ma/iam, you seem to understand very little what your 



294 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

brother is worth in such a market as this. Fifty guineas ? Well, if 
that is all, there is an end.' 

I informed him that General Forster was not like Lord Nithsdale, 
a man of a great estate, but, on the other hand, that his estates had 
been all sold up, so that he had nothing at all bat what he would 
get at the death of his father. But he stiffly refused to do business, 
as he called it, on such shabby terms, and I was forced to raise my 
price. He was truly a most exorbitant creature, and refused to do 
anything until I gave him fifty guineas down, and an offer in writing 
to give him four hundred and fifty guineas more on my brother's 
escape being assured. The fellow had some education, it seems, and 
could read and write. I think he had been a kind of lawyer's clerk, 
who had been put into this place in return for some services. ' If,' 
he said, ' you make me the offer, I can put it into Mr. Pitts' hands 
should you play me false. Go away then, madam, and write it down, 
and bring the fifty pounds before we have any more dealings or 
talk.' 

' But if,' I said, ' you play me false, and, after taking the fifty 
pounds, do not go on with the business ?' 

' Five hundred guineas,' he replied, ' though little enough reward 
for the escape of the General and the risk I run, is a mighty great 
Bum for me. Your ladyship need not fear.' 

I went away therefore, and presently wrote on a piece of paper 
words which might have brought me to prison too, if this fellow 
showed them. For I said that I, Dorothy Forster, sister of General 
Forster, then in Newgate Gaol, solemnly pledged myself to give one 
Jonas, warden or turnkey in the said gaol, the sum of four hundred 
and fifty guineas sterling as soon as the said General Forster was 
out of the gaol. 

Next I sought my friend Purdy, the blacksmith, where I lodged, 
and told him that I wanted his services, but secretly, and without a 
word said to his wife, or his prentices, or any living soul. He 
swore very readily to the greatest silence on the matter. Then I 
asked him whether, in case I put into his hand an impression in wax 
of a key, he would make me its counterpart in iron. He smiled, 
guessing very easily what I designed, and said that such an imita- 
tion was a thing belonging to his trade, and that he would under- 
take to make me such a key in a very little while, and nobody to 
guess or suspect a word of the matter. 

I lost no time at all, but went back to the prison, found the 
worthy Mr. Jonas, who was waiting for me, and gave him the 
earnest-money which he asked — namely, fifty guineas in a purse. 

' So,' be said, ' this is business. And what next can I do to please 
your ladyship ?' 

I told him that I wanted an impression in wax of the master-key, 
which for the moment was all I would ask of him. This he made 
for me, and gave me very readily, only imploring that, should the 
possession of this be discovered, or the plot be prevented by any 
untoward misfortune, it should never be divulged how I o- t the 
key. And again he threaten -i, if the money was not paid after Mr, 



TOM'S ESCAPE. 295 

Forster's escape, to put my paper in the hands of a justice, by which 
he said, I know not how truthfully, he could ensure my being put 
to death with all the barbarities proper for the crime. 

In this simple method, without troubling Mr. Hilyard to com- 
plete his grand plot, and without any regard to what he called the 
dramatic situation, I obtained that most invaluable aid to an escape, 
a master-key. 

Now, it was hard to keep my counsel during this time, for on 
the one hand I had to restrain the impatience of Mr. Hilyard, v.- bo 
would still be urging me to let him follow up the overtures he ;;;td 
made to Mr. Pitts, who indeed expected it, for his own iir.vt, a; id, 
the sum of £10,000 having been mentioned between them, b» -;;an 
to. throw out hints not only to Mr. Hilyard but to myself, so that I 
was obliged to let him be plainly told that for the present at least 
nothing could be done. When I consider the number of escapes 
that were made from Newgate, I am amazed that the man and his 
wardens and assistants were not brought to justice. Perhaps, how- 
ever, the Ministry were not unwilling that the prisoners should es- 
cape. Lady Cowper told me, after